A Day in the Life
by 554Laura
Summary: Written for the Bonesology fan fiction challenge, following a day in the life of a minor Bones character. I don't own Bones, or its characters.
1. Chapter 1 Night

It was eleven p.m. as a solitary security guard began his customary rounds through the deserted hallways of the Jeffersonian. He paused briefly as he checked a door, making sure it was locked. He smiled to himself as he read the sign over the door frame. This particular storeroom had been the scene of more than just boxes and crates being moved around. Over the years, the model of Cleopatra's bed from the previous Egyptian exhibit had been a popular lunchtime meeting spot for several pairs of employees to enjoy some time together. The man shrugged, wondering if the installation of the museum's new security cameras had put a crimp in that activity. Surely by now most couples had found another place to indulge in some afternoon delight. He just hoped it wasn't on the wing of the museum under his nightly supervision. He chuckled as he walked on. Maybe somehow he could suggest the storeroom in the Medieval wing as an alternative location for passionate trysts. Jenkins wouldn't care, right? It might even spice up things on that wing of the museum, and Jenkins could use the spice in his life.

The guard strolled through the dimly lit halls, using his flashlight to check dark corners, whistling softly as he worked his way through his appointed wing. He liked the comfortable predictability of his evenings at work. It was rare that anything happened to provide a change in his routine, and to be honest, he liked it that way. He could make his rounds, checking his area for unlocked doors and turning off forgotten lamps as he contemplated a book he'd been reading or a lecture he might've attended earlier in the day. Employees of the Jeffersonian had access to any museum lecture they wished to attend, and the topics ranged from how the brain functioned under stress to the different military strategies employed during the Peloponnesian War. The guard loved going to those lectures. That was part of what had enticed him to apply for the job. He'd learned so much by listening to the presentations, and it felt great to sit in the same room with all those smart people, discussing the various topics with well respected professors and authors, and none of them seemed to care that he was merely one of the museum's security guards.

Being a nocturnal sort, he liked his hours, too. He could work all night and go home to have a bite to eat before going to a lecture somewhere or to the public library to check out some more books, and then he could sleep for a while before going to back to work late in the evening. He always brought 2 or 3 books with him when he came to work. He usually preferred non-fiction books, but he also liked the literary classics. He was reading through the works of Hemingway and Dickens again, devouring pages of their novels as he devoured his evening meal on his break. After he checked the door locks and all the dark nooks and crannies of the old building, he could usually find time to settle down at the front desk for a few minutes so he could read a chapter or two before it was time to make his rounds again.

At midnight, the alarm on his phone sounded, and he nodded as he turned toward the vicinity of the Medical-Legal lab. It would soon be time to check on Dr. Brennan. Earlier in the evening, he'd gotten a text from Dr. Saroyan, the woman in charge of the lab, asking him to look in on the lab's forensic anthropologist if it wasn't too much trouble. The guard laughed to himself. It was no trouble at all. In fact, he was looking forward to it. He enjoyed talking to Dr. Brennan. She was brilliant, but she also had a sort of child-like quality that he found most endearing. Like most geniuses, she wasn't always concerned about little things like time when she was in the middle of a project. In some ways Dr. Brennan reminded him very much of his own daughter, even though his daughter was about ten years younger than Dr. Brennan. He sighed as he thought of his brilliant and beautiful Marie, who was currently living in Japan with her partner. He didn't hear from his daughter very often, and he missed her terribly. Sighing heavily, he slowly continued his rounds. Nothing could be done to fix his issues with Marie right now. He knew everyone had their own sad story, and his estrangement with his daughter wouldn't be of interest to anyone but himself. Shaking off his unhappy thoughts, he checked the video cameras in the hallway to make sure they were working properly before walking across the lab to see if Dr. Brennan was still working.

It was now one a.m., and he was only slightly surprised to see the light still on in the anthropologist's office. When Dr. Brennan had first started working at the Jeffersonian, he'd often scolded her gently about working into the wee hours of the morning, but it usually did no good. He knew her mind probably worked twenty four hours a day, even while she was supposed to be resting. It seemed she also had nocturnal tendencies, and her active mind would sometimes keep her from sleeping at night. She'd often decided that she might as well come to work and do something constructive instead of laying in bed wide awake, doing nothing. He'd understood perfectly, having made similar choices himself many times in the past. It was nice to know that someone else knew what it was like to be an nightowl, enjoying the silence of the night while most people were asleep.

However, over the past few years, since she'd started working in conjunction with the FBI, she'd gradually changed her schedule, spending less time working late at the lab. She'd found other things to do, including spending time with her friend, Agent Booth. The guard had approved, knowing that it wasn't good for her physical or mental health to work so late, spending more time with the dead than the living. He'd hoped that she was learning to take better care of herself. He was glad for the good influence Booth was having on her life. She had seemed so happy for a while…

After gently knocking on the office door, the guard quietly pushed it open, not wanting to startle Dr. Brennan if she was concentrating. Finding no one in her office, he turned off the light and locked the door behind him. If she was still in the building, she'd be able to unlock the door herself, but he figured she'd just left in a hurry earlier in the day, perhaps on a case, and had forgotten the lock and the light. She'd be annoyed with herself if she knew, but he decided not to mention it to her. It was an easy thing to fix, and there was no harm done.

The guard glanced at his watch. Two a.m. He had about an hour until he'd eat his dinner. He walked out to the lab platform and accessed it with his ID card. He stood silently, almost reverently, for a few seconds, noticing how the idling monitors of the computers cast an eerie glow across the tables, softening the sharp edges of the skeletons that were laid out there. No Dr. Brennan here, either. He hoped she'd gone home, but there was one more place he wanted to look before he ate his dinner. Exiting the platform, he decided to check the basement.

Taking the steps down to bone storage, he quietly turned the knob and opened the door, peering around it to see if anyone living was present. The guard knew that this was one of Dr. Brennan's favorite places to come if she wanted peace and quiet for some reason, but the room was empty except for the stacks of large plastic boxes containing skeletal remains that made up the walls. Some people who worked in the Jeffersonian lab called this store room Limbo, and as he recalled the definition... _an uncertain period of waiting or resolution..._ he agreed it was a fitting name, but he knew she didn't like it. To Dr. Brennan, that name sounded like a surrender. She was confident that sooner or later, given enough time, she'd be able to identify every one of those nameless ones...and he had no doubt that she'd be able to do it.

It looked like Dr. Brennan had gone home at a reasonable hour. Good. The guard glanced at his watch as he turned off the light and locked the door leading to bone storage. Three a.m. Time for his meal break. He walked upstairs to the small kitchenette where he'd left his books and his lunchbox. He'd looked forward to diving back into _The Sun Also Rises,_ but he found that his mind kept drifting away from the story in the novel to one of real life stories that had occurred at the Jeffersonian…

Dr. Brennan had been keeping more normal hours at the lab until the Gravedigger trial, when she returned to working long hours, keeping an erratic schedule as she tried to find enough evidence to convict Heather Taffet in kidnapping and murder charges. It soon became clear, even after the successful outcome in court, that the trial had taken a heavy toll on her, physically as well as emotionally, and eventually she decided that she needed a break from all the stress that had been building up in her life. She left her lab and her friends in DC and went to work on an anthropological dig in the Malukus. Even though he was just a security guard, he'd missed seeing her around the museum. Her intellectual energy had burned like a beacon for him. Being a professor as well as a scientist, she rarely hesitated to answer any question he might have for her as he stopped to chat during his evening rounds, and he often answered questions for her pertaining to the vagaries of human behavior. Even with all the differences between them, they'd become good friends over the time they had worked together, and he'd looked forward to seeing her again when the expedition was finished.

After Dr. Brennan's return from the Maluku Islands, she'd soon reverted to her practice of staying at the lab until the early morning hours. The guard, knowing her well by now, realized she was hiding from her pain...pain that was caused by the companion who had joined her friend Agent Booth after his tour of duty in Afghanistan. Blonde and beautiful, the woman was involved in a romantic relationship with Booth. That relationship had caused Dr. Brennan a great deal of heartache, and so she buried herself in her work as a means of retreat. The guard had tried as best he could to help her get past that little bump, but then she worked a case that had pushed her to an emotional brink. She was overidentifying with the victim. Dr. Brennan had worried about becoming a copy of Dr. Lauren Eames.

The guard smiled as he remembered their many discussions over that short period of time when it seemed that Dr. Brennan might be in danger of losing touch with reality. No one had come to her office to tell her to go home, so she had stayed for many hours past closing time, looking over the victim's remains, and having one sided conversations with the dead woman. The guard had known he needed to help her somehow, even though it might not be his place to do so. He felt sure she would listen to him, even if she listened to no one else. She'd often said that he was the one person she could always understand. He wasn't sure what gift he had that made that possible, but he'd used it to convince her to listen to the signals from the Universe. If anyone else had told her that, she'd say they were being ridiculous, but she had listened to him, and something happened, although the guard had never really known exactly what took place. Dr. Brennan said she had listened to the signals from the Universe…and what had happened as a result had made her very sad, but it was better than being dead inside. After three upside down days, things had finally turned right side up again.

Four a.m. Time to make his rounds. The guard walked through the silent halls, thinking about what had happened next in the story. Dr. Brennan and Agent Booth, it seemed, had lost touch with each other for a time, only to find each other again. The signals from the Universe that had gotten crossed or that were becoming faint had begun to come in loud and clear...and finally they were both receiving the same signals. They became a couple and had welcomed a child. For the most part, Dr. Brennan had gone back to keeping regular hours, until the arrival of Christopher Pelant and the Ghost Killer. She would've stayed all night trying to solve those cases, but Agent Booth refused to let her do that any more. He persuaded her to come home with him to get some rest, and to let someone help her, and because she trusted him, she listened. The guard was then satisfied that Agent Booth would take excellent care of Dr. Brennan. Chuckling softly, the guard imagined what Dr. Brennan might say if she knew that he thought someone should be taking care of her…she would most certainly be quite annoyed.

Five a.m. The guard used his flashlight to check the halls, nooks and crannies again, making sure things were all clear before the morning shift took over. He went through the halls switching on the lights for the scientists who normally arrived early in the morning. He checked to make sure the overnight cleaning crew had stocked the restrooms appropriately, making sure the lights were turned on and the water was turned off. The building was slowly awakening after it's quiet overnight slumber. It was like watching a large animal shaking off its sleep and stretching itself to meet the new day.

Sixty thirty a.m. Making one last pass through the halls of his wing, the guard checked the trash cans to make sure they'd been emptied. He booted up the computers at the front desk and turned on the metal detectors in the lobby that led into his wing. Going through the kitchenette, he opened his locker and placed his walkie talkie, flashlight, and baton inside. He checked the safety on his gun before laying it next to the walkie talkie. He closed the locker and spun the lock before walking out to the front desk to greet the security guards on the day shift.

Seven a.m. Time to get ready for the shift change. The digital recorders were reset and the information from the omnipresent security cameras was backed up and stored. The guard laughed as he saved the information, remembering how Dr. Hodgins and Ms. Montenegro had been caught _in flagrante_ because they hadn't realized that security cameras had been installed in various storerooms. They had learned to become much more discreet as the years had gone by…

Seven thirty a.m. The guard decided to stop by Dr. Brennan's office before he left for the day, and was pleased to see that she was already at work. "Good morning, Dr. Brennan."

"Oh, good morning, Micah." Brennan smiled as she looked up from her computer. "Please come in and sit down. How are you today?"

"I'm fine. Getting an early start on the day, I see." He gestured toward her computer.

"Yes, I decided to come to work early so I can leave a bit early today. My daughter has a dance recital this evening, and I'll need to help her get ready." She pointed to a mug on her desk. "Can I get you some tea or coffee?"

"Oh, no, thanks. I just dropped by to see how you are. I haven't spoken to you for several months…" Micah smiled broadly as he pointed to the picture of Brennan's children in a frame on her desk. "I guess your kids keep you very busy. It's good to go home and spend the evening with your family, isn't it?"

"Yes, I find that spending time with my family is very important to me. I miss them tremendously if I have to work late in the lab." Brennan took a sip of her tea. "I assume you're leaving for the day. Are you going to a lecture this afternoon?"

"Two lectures actually. One about warping the space/time continuum to help us travel, like in Star Trek, and then another one about Sequoyah's development of the Cherokee syllabary."

"Both of those topics sound quite interesting." Brennan ran her finger around the rim of her mug. "I know you like the midnight shift, Micah, but I wish you'd consider moving to days. I find that I miss our very entertaining discussions."

Micah shrugged as he stood up to leave. "But if I worked days, I wouldn't be able to go to so many lectures, and I'd be just another boring security guard. Maybe I can stop by your office every few weeks before I go home, just to check in. I can tell you about the lectures I've been to, and you can tell me about what your children have been doing."

Pleased with his suggestion, Brennan nodded in agreement. "I think that would be acceptable. I'll look forward to seeing you soon."

"Give my regards to Agent Booth. Good-bye, Dr. Brennan." Smiling as he waved to her, Micah left Dr. Brennan's office, content with his life, and happily looking forward to another day of learning and another night of work.


	2. Chapter 2 Dr Wells

_A/N: Several people have wondered whether or not Booth should be allowed to correct Dr. Oliver Wells' behavior. Here's one possible scenario. I hope my fellow Oliver haters will enjoy it._

Oliver Wells arrived precisely at 8 a.m. in the morning for his rotation as Dr. Brennan's intern at the Jeffersonian lab and strode quickly across the lab with unbridled confidence. He realized that many people found him to be arrogant and ungracious, but he didn't care what others thought, because he knew, without a doubt, that he was a superior being, and he also knew that Dr. Brennan was quite fortunate that he'd abased himself to work for her. He glanced around his environs as he rolled his eyes disdainfully at the lab's limited expectations for interns. In his heart he knew he shouldn't really be considered an intern. He truly believed that he should be considered on par with Dr. Hodgins, having had a similar amount of education. He thought he should be given the respect someone with multiple degrees deserved. Unfortunately, because he was two hours short of his degree in forensic anthropology, Dr. Saroyan didn't see things his way when she'd hired him to work as an intern with Dr. Brennan.

It also bothered him immensely that everyone who worked at the lab seemed to blindly follow the orders given by the imperious forensic anthropologist. He considered himself to be the superior scientist of the two, worthy of running a lab like the Jeffersonian by himself. If he were running the lab, changes would be definitely be made in assignments. Dr. Brennan would no longer be the lead anthropologist. In his estimation, the only reason he should have to consider Dr. Brennan as his superior was because she was supervising his doctoral thesis in forensic anthropology. He considered himself to be far more objective and less easily swayed by emotional considerations. He knew he was smarter than she was, and he was jealous of her position as the voice of authority in the lab. He knew that position should really belong to him.

Oliver mused on his irritations at being classified as an intern as he went about the mundane tasks he'd been assigned to complete for the day. He put a set of remains in a large glass box and emptied the containers of dermestid beetles into it, watching for a few minutes as the insects began to devour the charred flesh of the victim. He nodded to himself and smiled. When he ran the Jeffersonian lab, things would be different. Dr. Brennan would be in charge of cleaning all bones that came into the lab, and he would assemble the skeletons. His interns would be doing many more interesting things, like going out to crime scenes and the like, and they'd all appreciate how truly superior he was to Dr. Brennan.

Turning to leave the beetles to do their work, he picked up his tray of samples and took them to Dr. Hodgins' office. At least Dr. Hodgins didn't act as condescending towards him as Dr. Brennan did. In fact, Oliver had to admit to himself begrudgingly, Dr. Hodgins seemed to almost tolerate him. However, Oliver found Dr. Hodgins' insistence that he, Oliver Wells, should become more socially acceptable and pleasant to be demeaning to a pure scientist like himself. A person didn't have to be friendly to be a good scientist...in fact, friendships could get in the way of pure science. Love and friendships often prevented people from looking for the truth, or if they found the truth, those emotions could prevent people from acknowledging the truth. That's why Oliver had wanted to prove that Christine Booth's report card had been altered. He wanted to prove that Dr. Brennan had become too emotionally invested in her work to look for truth objectively. Even though the outcome wasn't exactly as he desired, he still felt that he'd proven his point. Oliver Wells knew he was a better scientist than Temperance Brennan could ever be.

Dr. Wells knocked on the door of Dr. Hodgins' office and walked in. "Here are the samples from the victim, Hodgins. Dr. Saroyan would like you to look for evidence of incendiary substances that might have been used on the victim to help her determine if the death was an accidental immolation or a murder." Oliver's attention was drawn away from Hodgins as he heard a man brusquely clear his throat. "Oh, good morning, Agent Booth….why are you here? Do you have more evidence from the case for us to examine?"

Special Agent Seeley Booth sat on a stool opposite from Hodgins, glaring at Oliver intently. Booth had no patience for the man, especially when he found out from his wife how this man had accused their little girl of cheating by tampering with her report card. The fact that Wells' accusations about the changed grade had caused Bones to be upset was reason enough for Booth to hate Wells, but Hodgins had 'accidently' let slip information pertaining to the disparaging attitude Oliver had harbored about Booth's intellectual capabilities. Calling Booth the equivalent of a dumb jock during the case with the murdered hockey player was definitely a stupid thing for Oliver Wells to do, especially since Booth and Hodgins had a longstanding friendship.

Booth could not figure out why this jackass was still working at the Jeffersonian. He knew Bones and Cam had hoped to civilize the jerk, since they both considered him to be a talented scientist, but so far they hadn't been very successful. Pursing his lips, Booth determined his course of action. It was time for him to take matters into his own hands. He would provide the needed correction for Dr. Oliver Wells.

"Yeah, good morning to you, too, Dr. Wells. Listen, I'm not here about the case." Booth paused as he narrowed his eyes at the intern. "I'm actually here because it seems we have a problem. Dr. Brennan has informed me that you actually took her daughter's report card from the desk in her office without her permission. I assume someone who is as intelligent as you claim to be understands the meaning of the word 'theft', correct?"

Caught off guard by Booth's angry demeanor, Dr. Wells put his tray on the counter as he tried to come up with an appropriate response. "I believe it would be more accurate to say I borrowed the report card…", he stammered.

"No, that would not be more accurate, Dr. Wells. We know you took the report card from Dr. Brennan's desk without her permission. That's theft, and there are aggravating circumstances…" Booth's face was grim as he glanced at Hodgins.

"Aggravating circumstances? I don't believe it…" Oliver shook his head as he clenched his fists. "You're making things up. Where's your probable cause?"

Smirking at Hodgins, Booth shrugged. "You admitted to both Dr. Hodgins and Dr. Brennan that you had the girl's report card. Neither of them gave it to you, and Christine didn't give it to you. Dr. Brennan said that you knew that the report card had been put in the top drawer of her desk, because you were present when she did so. Her office isn't usually locked during the day, and you could've gained access to her desk easily, so you had means and opportunity. As far as motive goes,..."

Oliver's face turned bright red as he listened to Booth. "All circumstantial evidence...I passed the bar, you know. I know what I'm talking about, Agent Booth...you can't pin a theft on me…"

"It maybe true that you've passed the bar, but it's fairly obvious you haven't actually practiced law. You don't have the same amount of real life experience as I do, Dr. Wells. My practical experience gives me an advantage in this situation, even if you are smarter than me." Booth pressed his fingertips together as he studied Oliver's worried expression. "You see, report cards are considered to be legal documents in the District of Columbia. They can be admitted into evidence in courts of law as proof of a child's school attendance. So you've actually stolen and then tampered with a legal document without the owner's permission, and you did those things while you were working at a federally funded institution. Therefore, you've violated federal law. That makes it a case for the FBI, and guess what?" Booth gave Wells a wicked grin. "This dumb jock here?" He pointed his thumb at himself. "This dumb jock just happens to work for the FBI, which means…" Booth took out his handcuffs. "...Dr. Oliver Wells, you are under arrest for theft from a federal institution." Booth stood up and grabbed Oliver's arm, putting one of the cuffs on his right wrist. "Turn around, please…"

Hodgins, who'd enjoyed watching the little drama play out before him in his office, chuckled as he shook his head. "Dude, you really should've done the thirty hours of community service like I asked you to do when this all went down, and then I could've backed you up. Too bad, Oliver. Man, getting busted for theft...I guess you can pretty much kiss your high hopes for your career goodbye, right? Who'd want to hire a thief to work at their forensics lab? Nobody will ever trust you..."

"Wait. Now just wait a minute, Agent Booth. Dr. Brennan and I have moved past this problem, okay? She said she was fine with my apology. Did she decide to press charges against me? That's not what she said she was going to do. We had it worked out." Panic was starting to seep into Oliver's voice as he turned to look into the determined eyes of the man who was fastening the handcuffs on his wrists.

"Perhaps you've forgotten something, Oliver." Booth glowered at Oliver for a few seconds. "Dr. Brennan's daughter is also my daughter. I take a dim view of anyone who violates my daughter's right to privacy." Booth grabbed Oliver by the arm as he quickly hustled him towards the door of Hodgins' office. "I'm the one who's pressing charges against you. Ms. Julian said she was looking forward to putting your scrawny ass in jail. Let's go." Booth and his prisoner walked out of Hodgins' office, passing Brennan as she walked in. Booth twitched an eyebrow at his wife. "Seeya, Bones. I'll be back in an hour or so."

Brennan watched the two men leave in amazement. Thoroughly surprised, she turned to Hodgins. "Did Booth just arrest my intern?"

Hodgins couldn't help but laugh out loud. "That's great, isn't it? Oliver's gonna get just what he deserves for messing with Christine's report card, and I guess he won't be brave enough or stupid enough to call Booth a dumb jock to his face, either." Seeing Brennan's dismay, Hodgins held up his hand to prevent her protests. "It's just a little joke, okay? Booth didn't really arrest Oliver. He just wanted to rattle his cage. He's gonna take that jackass over to see Ms. Julian, and the two of them are gonna tag team on him a bit. Hopefully, they can take him down a peg or two, and he'll learn not to be so obnoxious."

"I see...so they are attempting to correct his inappropriate behavior?" Smiling, Brennan nodded as she looked toward the door.

"Yeah, baby...er, Dr. Brennan. That's exactly what they're gonna do. It's not going on his record, and Booth made up something about theft from a federal institution so he could pretend to press charges. We know that wasn't an actual arrest, but Oliver doesn't need to know that right? At least not right now. We can keep that a secret from him for a while.…"

Brennan laughed as she turned to leave Hodgins' office. "That is definitely one secret I will enjoy keeping."


	3. Chapter 3 The Diner

_A/N: the waitresses at the diner aren't usually acknowledged, so I gave them some names..._

Ellie McClain wiped down the lunch counter and carried the last of the dirty dishes over to the bus cart. It was two p.m., and the lunch rush was winding down. At last the 3 waitresses who'd been working the breakfast and lunch shift had time to take a short break while getting the dining room ready for the shift that came on at three o'clock. They were all beat...the diner was a favorite spot for patrons from several of the office buildings within walking distance of the restaurant, and it was a beautiful day. It seemed more people than normal had taken advantage of the fine weather to walk to the diner for a meal. They'd been very busy from 6 a.m. until 1:30 p.m. that day, with hardly a minute to even sip a cup of coffee and eat a bite of toast. Even though there might be an occasional customer wander in for a mid-afternoon pick me up, they could now take things a little slower and chat while they replenished the condiments on the tables and at the counter.

Bessie and Suzanne were busy filling the salt and pepper shakers and the sugar containers, stocking the sweetener holders and wiping the ketchup bottles clean as they gossiped about their favorite soap opera. Both of them were huge fans of a show called _Baxter Court_. Bessie had set her DVR to record the daily episodes, and the highlight of their week was usually when Suzanne went to Bessie's house to watch a week's worth of episodes with her on Friday evening. They followed the all of actors that played the main characters on twitter and on facebook, and they were both saving money to go to the _Baxter Court_ fan convention in Dallas in the fall. Both women knew the smallest details about the backstories of all the characters on the program, and each had deeply held convictions about which characters belonged together, although Bessie favored the Jennifer/Blaze coupling, while Suzanne was in favor of Jennifer and Stark finally getting together. Suzanne had also written several fan fiction stories about the adventures of the secondary characters Afton and Flint, including their marriage and multiple offspring, even though the show's creators had told the fans repeatedly that the two characters had no chance of making a life together on the program.

Ellie smiled to herself as she listened to the younger women natter on harmlessly about their favorite program. She'd seen a couple of episodes of the show on an occasional day off during the week, but she hadn't been impressed with the program enough to become engrossed in it the way they had. She nodded to herself as she wiped down the tables and chairs around the perimeter of the dining room. She knew she could never become addicted to such an unrealistic program...not when she could follow the real life adventures of Agent Seeley Booth and Dr. Temperance Brennan.

Pushing the bus cart and dirty dishes back to the kitchen, Ellie thought about the first time Agent Booth had shown up at the diner. She'd already worked there about five years by then, and had seen several FBI and IRS agents come and go, but Agent Booth had made a real impression on her. He was a new FBI agent in his twenties, and he'd come in for lunch that day, taking a seat at a table in her station. He flashed a big cocky grin at her, and asked her to bring him a cheeseburger, fries, coffee, and a big slice of apple pie. Ellie still blushed a bit as she remembered that gorgeous smile. She was several years older than him, and she definitely knew a flirt when she saw one, but what woman doesn't like to have a handsome man wink and smile at her like that man did? And she had to admit, it got him exactly what he'd wanted. She'd cut his slice of pie a bit larger than she normally would for a customer….

Over the next year or two, Agent Booth came into the diner for lunch at least three or four times a week, and Ellie had gotten to know him fairly well, chatting back and forth comfortably as one does with a frequent customer. He was a favorite with all of the waitresses, and it wasn't just because he was nice to look at. Agent Booth always treated the people that worked at the diner with respect, even the busboy, asking about their families, and how things were going in their lives. He understood how to talk to people and how to treat people well, and they all appreciated him because of it.

Ellie wiped down the back counter and cleaned the milkshake machine before moving on to rinse out the coffee pots and start some new coffee brewing, thinking about how the story had gradually changed for Agent Booth, starting with the Cleo Eller case. He'd begun to work with a new partner…a beautiful young woman named Dr. Temperance Brennan. Dr. Brennan and Agent Booth had spent many lunch hours together going over case notes and trying to solve crimes during that first year they worked together. Ellie had suspected that the young agent had developed some sort of crush on his pretty new partner, but it seemed he never could quite get around to acting on his feelings, adding more fuel to the soap opera fire. It was so much fun to watch the two of them together. Dr. Brennan always tried to remain focused and serious as Agent Booth tried to flirt with her, and that just encouraged the agent to flirt with her more. They bickered back and forth like an old married couple, much to Ellie's delight.

The continuing saga of her favorite pair took another tortuous turn when Agent Booth started dating Dr. Saroyan. Ellie pursed her lips slightly, thinking about their friends with benefits relationship as she washed out the sink and wiped off the menus. She remembered the evening she'd traded shifts with her friend Louise. Agent Booth had gotten a call while he was having dinner with Dr. Saroyan, telling him that Dr. Brennan had been kidnapped. Ellie shuddered as she thought once again about how the color drained from his face as he took that call. His expression told real story. Maybe Agent Booth had believed he wasn't in love with Dr. Brennan, but Ellie knew better. She knew then he'd probably always be in love with his scientist partner.

Finally finished with her part of the diner's clean up, Ellie sat down at the back corner table with a cup of coffee as she thought about what had happened next in the story. Agent Booth continued to date Dr. Saroyan for a while but eventually they broke up, and shortly thereafter Dr. Brennan began dating a different FBI agent. It was so strange to see Agent Booth come in alone for lunch after seeing him so often with a female companion, although occasionally he'd have lunch with a tall English gentleman. After a few months, however, things were back to normal. Agent Booth and Dr. Brennan would show up together for lunch several times a week. He'd have a burger and she'd have a salad, and they'd talk about the case or whatever else was on their mind. Ellie had brought their lunches to them enough to know that Agent Booth had it bad for his partner, and she was pretty sure Dr. Brennan felt the same way, but they could never seem to figure out who was going to make the first move…

The bell over the diner's door chimed as two customers entered and had a seat at the counter. Recognizing them as two of Dr. Brennan's interns, she brought them some water and waited to take their orders. They decided to have pie and coffee while they discussed various methods of defleshing bones. Ellie didn't bat an eye, having heard worse from Dr. Brennan as she discussed a murder victim's traumatic injuries with Agent Booth. Those discussions had happened with regularity until the soap opera added a new chapter when Dr. Brennan left for the Malukus and Agent Booth went to Afghanistan. It was hard having them both gone for so long. The waitresses worried about the safety of their two favorite customers, hoping that they'd return soon. However, as glad as the waitresses were when the agent and the scientist returned, things had become somewhat awkward. Ellie grimaced as she remembered Agent Booth's snooty blonde girlfriend. The woman was pretty enough and friendly enough, and the agent seemed happy with her, but all of the waitresses at the diner knew that he really belonged with Dr. Brennan…the blonde reporter was just a temporary fix for a broken heart. This soap opera needed a new twist. Agent Booth needed to get back together with Dr. Brennan. All of them knew it. They'd discussed it with the heated fervor they normally reserved for _Baxter Court._ Now if they could only get the main characters to realize it so the story could get back on track...

Ellie glanced at the clock as she refreshed the coffee for the two interns. It was almost three, and she hadn't seem Agent Booth today, or the two previous days. It was strange, considering he usually came in several times a week, but she knew he had his reasons. He was busy fighting crime with his partner...

Picking up the pie plates and coffee cups as the interns left, Ellie put them in the dish tub on the cart and took off her apron. She smiled, thinking about the next act of the soap opera. After the blonde girlfriend finally left for good, Agent Booth and Dr. Brennan had begun to grow close again, and it appeared that they were finally on the same page of the story. The waitresses were glad to see that at last Agent Booth and Dr. Brennan were enjoying being a couple. It had been a long time coming, but it seemed that their fairy tale was finally going to have a happily ever after.

The evening staff had arrived, and Ellie, Bessie, and Suzanne were on their way out when the diner doorbell rang at five minutes after three.

"Hey! How are my favorite waitresses?", Agent Booth asked, as he and Dr. Brennan entered the diner, both smiling happily. "I hope you aren't too busy. That's why we came now, between the lunch crowd and dinner rush. Bones and I have someone we'd like all of you to meet." He winked at Dr. Brennan, motioning for her to step toward the expectant group. She gingerly unwrapped the fluffy pink bundle in her arms, showing off a tiny newborn baby. Booth was fairly bursting with pride. "I'd like all of you to meet our new daughter, Christine. You guys are practically family, you know? We thought you'd like to see her…"

The waitresses stood in a semi-circle as they cooed and exclaimed over the baby. Even the fry cook and the man who did the dishes came from the kitchen to see the child. Ellie was entranced with the angelic baby girl as she gently took the bundle from her parents. "Agent Booth...Dr. Brennan...she's beautiful!" Bessie and Suzanne each took a turn holding the infant, making silly faces and funny noises. Finally, the baby produced a tiny cry, prompting her mother to take her back so she could comfort her daughter.

"We can't stay too long." Booth grinned at his wife as she cuddled their little girl. "We just wanted to thank you for being here, you know? Without this diner, I don't know where me and Bones would've spent all of our time together. Christine…" He nodded to the baby. "She's here because you provided us such a great place to come have a meal and share our lives, and we want to thank you for that."

After a few minutes, it was time to leave. Ellie stood on the street corner outside the diner, watching Agent Booth gently direct his girlfriend and their child toward their car. She chuckled to herself as she turned to go down to the bus stop. No matter what happened on _Baxter Court,_ she was satisfied. Her soap opera finally had a happy ending.


	4. Chapter 4 Paradise Lost

_A/N: I'm not sure whether or not this chapter fits with this challenge, but I thought I could stretch it to make it fit. If you have time to review, I'd appreciate it. Thanks. Laura_

It was one o'clock in the afternoon when Aldo Clemens stood on a quiet side street in DC, slipping his key into the lock and opening the door of his bar, the _Paradise Lost._ He smiled once again at the irony of the name he'd chosen for his place of business. He knew it was an apt description for the life of a man who wanted to leave thoughts of God, Heaven, and Angels behind completely behind as he started a new life. Now if God would just return the favor and leave him alone...

Of course, Aldo knew that there was little chance of that ever happening. Even though he'd been laicized and no longer served any sort of community as an active Roman Catholic priest, it seemed like God kept annoying him, nagging at him about all the stuff that He wanted Aldo to do. Aldo had tried to shrug off God's nosiness and the prying into his life, but it seemed God just wouldn't take 'no' for an answer. " _How long is it gonna take before You get the message up there?",_ Aldo thought angrily to himself, mentally shaking his fist at God. _"I'm not at Your beck and call, waiting for You to give me something to do! I don't work for You any more, remember? I'm living on my own terms now! You need to leave me the hell alone…"_

He tried to shake off those angry thoughts as he entered the small taproom, wanting to focus as he got the place ready for the evening. After wiping down the counter and the handles on the taps, Aldo checked the glasses on the back counter to make sure they were all clean before going back to the store room for some bottles of 'that fancy foreign beer' to put in the fridge. It was a Tuesday afternoon, and he knew there might not be much of a crowd coming in this evening, but since the weather forecast called for possible showers, he decided it was better to be prepared just in case the baseball game ended early. He stocked the beer in the fridge and then he checked his supply of whiskey in the bottles underneath the bar's counter.

A quick inventory of the undercounter shelves also showed that he had enough mixers on hand to make the most popular cocktails, although most of his regular customers seemed to prefer a nice, cold beer. He opened a new bottle of tequila, complete with worm, ready to make margaritas if necessary. Then he pulled out his cutting board to slice some limes and lemons, and opened some new jars of olives and cocktail onions for anyone who might happen to want a martini. The vodka, scotch, bourbon, and rye were ready to go, and the beer kegs were full for folks who wanted the domestic beer he had on tap. He knew he had plenty of red wine, and there were two bottles of white wine chilling in the fridge with the beer. Aldo chuckled to himself as he thought about some of his more rough and tumble patrons trying to sip daintily from a wine glass.

He set out the mixed nuts, popcorn, and chips, and then turned to make sure the icemaker was filling correctly. Satisfied that things were ready for the evening, Aldo pointed the remote at the television over the bar and found a talk show on ESPN before sitting down at the counter with his newspaper. He had a bit of time to relax before his customers normally came shuffling in, so he opened the paper to the sports page to see how the Nationals had done the night before. _A good bartender knows his sports scores. Gives him somethin' to talk about with his customers._ Glancing at the headline, he noticed the date on the top of the page and sighed, wanting to ignore the significance of it, but he was unable to concentrate on the stories on the front page sports section today. His mind kept wandering back in time…

It was twenty two years ago to the day that he had been ordained a priest. He remembered lying prostrate on the floor of the Sacred Heart Cathedral, stretched out face down in front of Bishop Craddock, pledging his life in service to God forever. The bishop and all the other clergy had laid hands on him and the other men who were being ordained, intoning that verse from Hebrews:

" _You are a priest forever, in the order of Melchizedek..."_

...and, as Aldo admitted to himself while he tried to read the next story on the page, that had been the plan. On that day he had wanted to be a priest for the rest of his life. Aldo had always felt, even as a brand new altar boy, that he'd had a religious calling of some sort on his life. The priesthood had seemed to be a natural fit, and he'd often imagined being the parish priest of a small church in some quaint New England town for forty or fifty years, happily caring for his parishioners through their births, christenings, marriages, and deaths. His whole life had been pointing in that direction until the day not long after his ordination when God threw him that giant curve ball. Aldo's bishop had asked him to consider becoming an Army chaplain. Bishop Kilraine knew that soldiers would respect Aldo's plain spoken, down to earth nature. Aldo was no namby-pamby ivory tower priest, the bishop had said. Aldo was a salt of the earth kind of guy with whom the soldiers could build a trusting relationship…

Aldo snorted as he turned to the next page of the newspaper. _Yeah, Bishop Kilraine just basically gave me a boatload of shit that day. They were desperate for Catholic Army chaplains, and I was too green to realize I could actually say no…"_

Turning to the box scores, Aldo tried to push his uncomfortable memories aside. There were too many dead and wounded men...too many damaged souls...too many questions about the nature of right and wrong...too many questions about his faith. It was all too much for Aldo to deal with. For twelve long years, he'd tried to reconcile his faith with everything that had happened to the men he knew as his comrades and friends. He'd tried to rely on the teachings of his Church so he could provide comfort to those who needed it. He'd tried to see God's wonderful plan in all of the death and destruction that occurred on the battlefield. Aldo thought he was going to be able to make it through to his twenty years in the army, so he could get his pension and retire to a quiet parish. That was the plan, but then there was that young soldier who'd pushed Aldo's faith until it couldn't be stretched any further, and he knew he couldn't, in good conscience, serve God as a priest any more.

That young man had believed everything his Church had taught him without any doubts. He was so worried about how being a sniper would affect his mortal soul. How could he reconcile killing people with the command to love God and to love his neighbor? He was haunted by what he had seen and by what he had done...haunted by the fortunes of war and survivor's guilt. Then there was that night where it all came to a head…when he and Aldo had sat together, having a cup of coffee, trying to figure out God's big plan for the Universe.

 _I don't get it, Father...Teddy Parker was a good guy. Why did he have to die? Why not me? Why did the Lord let this happen? It doesn't make sense. Teddy was just a kid. I must've done something wrong, you know, Father? Maybe God is punishing me for killing so many people...but that's my responsibility, Father...that's my job, and those are my orders, and I gotta follow those orders. I'm supposed to kill people to save other lives...but those people I killed have families, too, Father..._

Aldo didn't have the answers to any of the man's questions, at least not answers that satisfied either of them, and he knew, no matter what he'd read in the Bible or learned in seminary, he never would. He'd never be able to understand for himself why all those bad things happened they way they did, and not knowing the answers made him angry...angry at himself, but more than that, angry at God. Here was Master Sergeant Booth, a good, honest, faithful man who just wanted to do the right thing while he served his God and his Country, and God was jerking the guy around. It became too much for Aldo to stomach any more. He knew he could no longer serve a God who would treat a good hearted person that way…his ire would never be quenched. Aldo knew he'd never be able to look another soldier in the eye again while he talked about having faith in God's plan for humanity...he knew he'd feel like a liar and a hypocrite. It was time to walk away from the priesthood and from God...

Glancing at the clock, and seeing that it was five, Aldo sighed as he put the sports page away and got up to wipe the bar again. He'd seen an obituary in yesterday's paper, and he was expecting a customer to come in this afternoon. _Don't wanna look like a slacker when the customers get here…_

A few minutes later the door chimed as it was pushed open. "Hey, Aldo…"

"Hey, Booth." Aldo poured two fingers of Scotch into a shot glass and pushed it toward the man as he sat down at the counter. "How's it going?"

"Not good...not good at all." Booth wiped away a tear as he stared into his glass. "My brother, Jared…" Booth exhaled heavily. "He died, Aldo."

"Yeah." Aldo poured himself a glass of Scotch and took a sip. "I saw the funeral notice in the paper yesterday. I'm sorry to hear that…" He paused, waiting for Booth to continue. "Wanna talk about it?"

"Maybe." Shrugging, Booth avoided eye contact with Aldo as he ran his finger around the rim of his glass. "It's kinda hard to explain, though. Jared got mixed up in some really dangerous stuff with some really bad guys, Aldo...illegal stuff he had no business being mixed up in. He was trying to pick up some quick cash, I guess, and things got out of control real fast. It was stupid stuff, too, and I tried to help him get out of it, you know? I tried to get him out of the situation, but…" Booth choked back a sob. "...he was in too deep, and I couldn't do anything about it. He got himself killed, and I was shot up pretty bad myself. I mean, Bones didn't know where I was for a couple of days, and then I almost died. I was in the hospital for a week or so." Slamming his fist on the counter, Booth looked up at Aldo, unashamed of the tears that ran down his face. "Goddammit! Jared did something really stupid and died away from the Church, Aldo. He hadn't been to confession or taken Communion in years. He turned his back on everything my grandfather tried to instill in us boys about faith and honor. I mean, I guess I always knew Jared would do something stupid and end up dying young, but now…I mean, what about the state of Jared's soul? I hate to think about that, Aldo...I couldn't save his life, or help his mortal soul. I was his older brother. He was my responsibility...and I...I guess I failed him, and he may burn in Hell because of it..."

"I don't think so, Booth. I mean, I don't know about the Jared burning in Hell part. That's in the Lord's hands, not ours. But I don't think you failed him." Aldo looked Booth in the eyes and felt his searing pain. He paused before he continued, choosing his words carefully. "You did the best you could to help your brother, but, you know what? In the end, you weren't responsible for your brother's failures or his death. Jared was a grown man. He was forty years old, dammit! He was responsible for his own decisions and his own standing with God and the Church, not you."

"But I was supposed to set an example…" Booth grimaced as he drank his Scotch and slammed his shot glass on the counter. "I was supposed to show him how to live! I was supposed to be there for him. That's what an older brother does. Pops always reminded me to take care of Jared...to watch out for my little brother..."

"And you did just that. You took care of him for years, right? You've told me how you got him out of scrapes all the time. And no one could've been a finer example for your brother than you were. You can trust me on that, okay? But here's what you have to realize...maybe not today, but maybe some day, you have to understand that Jared made a whole series of bad choices. He chose to ignore what you were trying to tell him and what you were trying to show him by how you live your life, and instead he did something totally crazy...like really stupid and dangerous, right? That was not your fault. You were there for him as much as you could be, right? But in the end, it was Jared's own choices that cost him his life. It wasn't anything you did or did not do." Aldo watched as Booth thought over what he'd said. "The only person you can ever be completely responsible for is yourself, Booth, and as far as I can tell, you're not doing too bad on that front." Aldo shook his head as he filled their glasses again. glaring at Booth. "I don't suppose you went to see your own priest at your own church to talk about this shit, did you?"

Booth ran the back of his hand over his eyes and sniffled a bit as he reached for his glass again. "Nah. Father Mark, you know...he's a good guy, but as far as I can tell, Aldo, one way or another, you're always gonna be my real priest." Booth shrugged sheepishly. "Sorry. I mean, I know it's a goddamn pain in the ass to have to listen to me whine about everything that sucks in my life, but I just feel a lot more comfortable talking to you about God and stuff like that than I do talking to the priest at my church. You know all the bad shit I've done in my life and you've never judged me too harshly, and you know me enough to tell me to cut out the bitchin' and the bull shit if you need to, and most of the time I listen to you, right?"

"Yeah, well, maybe sometimes you listen to me." Aldo pursed his lips as he thought things over. "Okay, it's no big deal, I guess, if we talk about God and shit like that here at my bar as long as you buy some drinks while you're here...and as long as you remember I ain't a real priest any more, Master Sergeant Booth. And I ain't gonna sit through no more of your marathon confessions, okay?" Aldo winked at Booth and laughed as the agent handed him a couple of ten dollar bills. Aldo put the money in the cash drawer and poured another round of drinks for both of them. "Why don't you tell me more about your brother while you're here? I'd like to hear about him..."

Nodding as he listened to Booth, Aldo finally felt like he had a tiny inkling of what God had wanted from him the whole time He was bugging him. Maybe this moment with Booth was why the Lord had been nagging him. Aldo knew he might always be really angry at God, and he also knew he'd never again be able to serve the Lord as an army chaplain and that he'd never have his own little parish church. But he also knew that as long as Booth needed someone to listen to him, Aldo would be his friend and his priest...his priest forever, in the order of Melchizedek.


	5. Chapter 5 Consulting the Chef

_A/N: something a little different. If you have time to review, I'd appreciate it._

 _ooooooooooo_

To: Gordon Gordon Wyatt

Cc: Dr. Temperance Brennan

Re: wine question

Hope you're doing okay there at your cooking school in France. So I have a chef question for you, since that's what you're doing now. Me and Bones want to know what type of wine goes best with tofu. She says red wine instead of white. I say none, because why ruin a perfectly good glass of wine by serving it with tofu? What do you say, Chef Gordon Gordon?

Bones says she will "abide by your decision." Thanks.

 _Booth_

 _ooooo_

To: Seeley Booth; Dr. Temperance Brennan

Re: wine question

The type of wine you serve with tofu depends on whether or not it has a sauce served with it, and if so, what kind of sauce has been used. Red wine would go with a heavier sauce, such as a thick marinara, and white wine should be paired with a lighter sauce, such as a fish sauce. Perhaps sake would be more appropriate to serve with tofu, since both items are articles of Japanese cuisine. I hope that helps, although I tend to agree with you about the taste of tofu, Agent Booth. I find it to be rather unappetizing.

I must say that I find it delightful that you are attempting to solve your petty disputes in a civilized manner, by seeking a third party to arbitrate your differences, rather than by bickering. It appears that married life seems to agree with you both.

I am doing very well here at the Gastronomy Institute. Most of my days are spent teaching others how to cook. However, when I have the time, I find creating new entrees to be quite enjoyable.

Wishing you both good health.

 _Gordon Gordon Wyatt_

 _Instructor and Chef_

 _Gastronomy Institute of Paris_

 _ooooo_

To: Gordon Gordon Wyatt

Cc: Seeley Booth

Re: wine question

I find that I'm quite disappointed with your disparagement of tofu, Chef Gordon Gordon. I enjoyed many exotic meals while you were the chef at your _La Couple_ restaurant here in DC, and I believe I kept an open mind when it came to trying something new on the menu, even if it looked like semen on corn smut. However, while I disapprove of the use of animal products for human consumption, I understand that French cuisine may not easily lend itself to the creative use of alternate protein sources. Perhaps as a chef you could experiment with inventing some new vegetarian dishes with a French flair.

I do agree that sake seems to be most appropriate to drink with tofu. Thank you for your recommendation.

 _Dr. Temperance Brennan_

 _ooooo_

To: Gordon Gordon Wyatt; Dr. Temperance Brennan

Re: wine question

Nope. No sake. I think sake tastes like how dirty feet smell. I think if I have to eat tofu, I'd rather have red wine with it to cover up the taste of the stuff.

By the way, me and Bones don't bicker, Gordon Gordon. We just have very long discussions to decide which one of us is right on a topic. I know it's true that sometimes those discussions last all day. However, I don't know why our discussions have to be so long. It would be so much easier if Bones would just admit that I'm usually right about things. She's the stubborn one in our relationship. (hahaha)

 _Booth_

 _ooooo_

To: Gordon Gordon Wyatt

Cc: Seeley Booth

Re: Really, Booth?

I'm sure you realize, Gordon Gordon, after talking to both of us at various times in the past, that I am not the stubborn person in our relationship. Booth is far more stubborn than I am, as demonstrated by the way he tends to cling to his strange ideas and bizarre superstitions even if he is proven incorrect. However, I will agree with Booth in that we don't bicker. I do find that I often have to spend an inordinate amount of time explaining the facts of a situation to Booth, because he is usually tempted to rely on his 'gut' instead of his brains.

Sake does not taste like how dirty feet smell, Booth. You're just annoyed that you were wrong and now you have to eat tofu.

 _Dr. Temperance Brennan_

 _ooooo_

To: Dr. Temperance Brennan; Seeley Booth

Re: Really, Booth?

Because your relationship has changed significantly since last I spoke to both of you, I am not really in a position at the present time to determine which of you is the more stubborn person in your work partnership or your marital relationship, and as a chef, it most likely would not be appropriate to choose a side in this argument. It is, however, my considered opinion that because both of you are strong willed individuals, there will be several occasions when disagreements will occur on various fronts, and you will need to have an agreed upon method of resolving those disagreements. As a chef, I suggest discussing your differences over a pleasant dinner at a nice restaurant….providing, of course that you can both agree on such a restaurant.

I will take your suggestions under advisement, Dr. Brennan, about various ways to incorporate alternate protein sources into my entrees. French cooking, especially in Provence, does use vegetables quite extensively, and I suppose I could make my cassoulet without sausage, although the taste might suffer somewhat. However, I must say that tofu with beurre noir doesn't sound very good to me. I will be sure to inform you of my progress in this area. I believe my students would appreciate the addition of vegetarian dishes to their classes.

Could you please satisfy my curiosity, Dr. Brennan? How was Agent Booth incorrect?

 _Gordon Gordon Wyatt_

 _Instructor and Chef_

 _Gastronomy Institute of Paris_

 _ooooo_

To: Gordon Gordon Wyatt

Cc: Seeley Booth

Re: Really, Booth?

Booth has long insisted that his preferred diet, which seems to consist mainly of meat, cheese, eggs, beer, chips, apple pie, and bread, has had no ill effects on his health. However, at his last FBI mandated physical, both his blood pressure and his cholesterol were in the unacceptably high range. Because of these test results, his physician has recommended that Booth increase the amount of vegetables he eats, and he also suggested that Booth reduce the amount of meat and cheese in his diet to avoid having to take medication for high cholesterol and hypertension. Understandably, my husband was not pleased with this recommendation, especially when I pointed out to him that I was correct in my disapproval of his food choices. As a result, he now must eat plant based protein sources for dinner at least three times a week until his next checkup with the hope of improving his numbers.

As you may imagine, Gordon Gordon, Booth is not happy about this situation, and not only because he dislikes tofu so much. He also seems to intensely dislike the idea that I was correct about his poor diet and he was not. He seems to resent what he calls my "I told you so" attitude.

Of course, it is true that I remind him several times a day to be aware of his animal protein intake. Perhaps I should be more considerate of his feelings.

 _Dr. Temperance Brennan_

 _ooooo_

To: Dr. Temperance Brennan; Gordon Gordon Wyatt

Re: Seriously, Bones?

Gordon Gordon doesn't need to know about my diet and high cholesterol, Bones! Jesus...no wonder my blood pressure is so high!

 _Booth_

 _ooooo_

To: Seeley Booth; Gordon Gordon Wyatt

Re: Seriously, Bones?

Gordon Gordon was a psychiatrist, Booth. Even though psychology is not really a science, I'm sure, as a physician, he is aware of the link between a person's physical health and their mental health. I'm sure he would agree with me when I say that it's in your best interest to take care of these health concerns. I think you're being oversensitive.

 _Dr. Temperance Brennan_

 _ooooo_

To: Dr. Temperance Brennan; Seeley Booth

Re: Dietary changes

Yes...well, given the poor results at his last physical, it does appear that Booth may need to alter his diet somewhat. I faced a similar dilemma a few years ago when I was informed that I was well on the way to becoming a very unhealthy diabetic. As you may infer, I was not happy with the restrictions my physician placed on my diet, especially since I am a chef who loves French pastries. However, I've lost fifty pounds as a result of my dietary changes, and I'm now feeling quite svelte. I've been able to adjust, and I believe Booth can adjust as well. Perhaps a compromise would be in order. Might I suggest the following? It may be more palatable for him to eat plant based protein two days a week and a less fatty animal protein, such as baked fish or chicken, two days a week. That should assist him in lowering his cholesterol significantly without having to sacrifice his taste for animal protein.

I do understand why Booth may not wish you to tell me about all of his health concerns, Dr. Brennan, although you are correct in surmising that there is a link between physical well being and improved mental health.

I must say that I find it interesting that you are both engaging in bickering over email. I suppose some things never change, correct? However, if this communication style works for you, I'm happy for you.

I'll let you know if I develop some new French vegan entrees.

 _Gordon Gordon Wyatt_

 _Instructor and Chef_

 _Gastronomy Institute of Paris_

 _ooooo_

To: Dr. Temperance Brennan

Re: bickering

I don't know what Gordon Gordon means when he says we are bickering on email. I don't think we bicker that much any more, do you?

 _Booth_

 _ooooo_

To: Seeley Booth

Re: bickering

I think we have made a remarkable improvement in our ability to discuss things rationally, Booth. I'm unsure what Gordon Gordon means by that statement about bickering. I'm sure you realize by now that I was correct in my assessment of poor diet, and I know you're willing to concede that I was correct.

 _Dr. Temperance Brennan_

 _ooooo_

To: Dr. Temperance Brennan

Re: bickering

No, I don't concede anything. I think the doctor's office ran the tests wrong. I'm gonna make another appointment and have the doctor check my blood again. Then I can prove that my diet is just fine….

 _Booth_

 _ooooo_

To: Seeley Booth

Re: bickering

That's just silly, Booth…

ooooo

 _Dr. Temperance Brennan_

To: Dr. Temperance Brennan

Re: bickering

No, it's not. You're just afraid that I'm gonna find out that I was right. You'll see...my diet is just fine.

 _Booth_

 _ooooo_

To: Seeley Booth

Re: bickering

FINE! BE THAT WAY!

 _Dr. Temperance Brennan_

 _ooooo_

To: Dr. Temperance Brennan

Re: bickering

FINE! I WILL BE THAT WAY!

 _Booth_

 _ooooo_

To: Seeley Booth

Re: bickering

I love you, Booth...I want you to be well so we can spend a long life together, so I'm concerned about your health. I don't want to lose you to a stroke or a heart attack if it can be prevented by small changes to your diet. I don't think these changes will be difficult to make if you see the goal as a longer life.

By the way, sometimes men who have to take medication to lower their blood pressure suffer from erectile dysfunction….I'm sure you wouldn't want that to occur, would you?

 _Dr. Temperance Brennan_

 _ooooo_

To: Dr. Temperance Brennan

Re: Bickering

Well...if you put it that way...I guess I can maybe watch my diet a little closer, although, I have to say...being with you, I doubt I would ever suffer from erectile dysfunction…

 _Booth_

 _ooooo_

To: Seeley Booth

Re: bickering

That was sweet! Maybe this evening you can prove your point…

 _Dr. Temperance Brennan_

 _ooooo_

To: Dr. Temperance Brennan

Re: bickering

Looking forward to it….

 _Booth_


	6. Chapter 6 Miss Carter

_A/N: this chapter takes place about two years in the future._

Miss Carter sat at her desk after school, looking through a set of her students' papers. Although she'd had a few years of teaching experience with older elementary students under her belt, this was her first year to teach third grade, and while she was enjoying it, she'd found that there were a few challenges that she hadn't anticipated when she agreed to make the move to a different grade level.

Sorting through the papers again, she thought about the assignment she'd given. In an effort to encourage her students to write well, she had instructed them to write a short booklet about a day in the life of their parents. Students were to tell what their parent(s) did at work or at home while the child was at school for the day, and then they were to illustrate their book. The class had worked enthusiastically on their projects, and for the most part, Miss Carter had been very pleased with the results. One or two of the students had insisted that their parents did nothing all day, so Miss Carter had told those students to think about what their parents did on the weekends. She sighed as she looked at the last booklet in the stack. It appeared that one of her students had an extremely overactive imagination. The story was well written, but quite outlandish in content. Miss Carter had gently questioned the little girl, but the student had insisted that the story she had written in her book was the absolute truth. Uncertain of what to make of the situation, Miss Carter decided to confer with the more experienced teacher in the classroom next to hers.

She quietly knocked on Mrs. Cole's door. "Cyndi? Do you have a minute? I'd like to ask you about one of my students…"

"Oh, hi, Lorraine. Sure, come on in." Mrs. Cole pointed toward an adult sized chair next to her desk. "Make yourself comfortable. What can I do for you?"

"Well…" Miss Carter hesitated, trying to think of the best way to describe her problem. "This afternoon I had my students write and illustrate a storybook about what their parents did during the day…"

"That sounds like an interesting project. I imagine your students enjoyed it, didn't they?" Mrs. Cole gave Miss Carter an encouraging smile. "Were you happy with the results of the assignment?"

"For the most part. The thing is...the stories were supposed to be nonfiction, and most of my students figured that out, except for Christine Booth." Miss Carter held up a stack of papers to show Mrs. Cole. "She wrote the craziest story, but she stubbornly insists that it's all true. You had her in class last year, right? She's such a sweet little girl, and she's so bright. I just can't imagine why she doesn't understand the concept of nonfiction. Maybe I didn't adequately explain what the term nonfiction means. Do you think I should have her try to do the project again? What do you suggest? Maybe I should call home..."

Mrs. Cole laughed out loud, much to Miss Carter's chagrin. "Is that Christine's book? May I look at it, please?" Thumbing through the storybook, Mrs. Cole nodded and smiled as she handed the stapled papers back to Miss Cole. "Let me assure you...you did a fine job of teaching the concept of nonfiction to Christine. Everything she wrote in her story is the absolute truth."

"Surely not…" Miss Carter shook her head with surprise as she reread the first page. "I don't believe it…"

"Have you met Christine's parents yet, Lorraine?" Mrs. Cole folded her hands in her lap and smiled at the younger woman. "They're very interesting people."

"Only briefly. They came for 'meet the teacher' day when school opened a few weeks ago. Her mother looked familiar, but there were so many people in and out of the classroom that day, and we didn't really have time to chat." Miss Carter looked at Mrs. Cole suspiciously, wondering if she was in the middle of a practical joke.

"Christine's mother is Dr. Temperance Brennan, the best selling mystery novelist, who also happens to be one of the world's leading forensic anthropologists. Her father, Special Agent Seeley Booth, is in charge of the FBI's Major Crime division in Washington, DC. They work as partners solving crimes, in addition to being married to each other. Because of their ability to use their different areas of expertise in a complementary manner, Agent Booth's division has one of the highest conviction rates in the nation."

"Wait...Christine's mother is _the_ Temperance Brennan? The one who writes the books about Kathy Reichs and Andy Lister? Oh, my God…" Miss Carter looked like she was ready to faint.

"The very same. In fact, Agent Booth is the man who was the inspiration for Andy Lister in the novels." Mrs. Cole handed Miss Carter a bottle of water. "Are you okay? You look a little pale. I know this is a surprise. I almost fell over when I figured this all out last year."

"They sent Christine to public school? That's amazing! Oh, God...I hope this year's lesson plans for science will meet with Dr. Brennan's approval…" Lorraine tried to fan herself with Christine's papers. "Is it hot in here?"

"Don't worry, Lorraine. Your science lessons will be fine, and, in my experience, Dr. Brennan can usually offer enrichment for your lessons and experiments if you ask her for assistance a few days in advance. Agent Booth and Dr. Brennan decided that they wanted Christine's childhood to be as normal as possible, so they enrolled her in our school district. However, as much as they try to protect Christine from the really awful parts of their careers, occasionally the little girl picks up tidbits of unfortunate information here and there. She might hear snatches of conversation or things like that. Both of her parents have been in danger from time to time because of their work, but they really make an effort to shield her from that."

Miss Carter thumbed through Christine's story again. "So everything that Christine wrote was true...her mommy studies the bones of dead people and her daddy chases bad guys all over the country. Well, I guess I have a thing or two to learn myself. I'm just glad I didn't call home to tell her parents that I thought she was lying…"

Mrs. Cole laughed again. "I'm glad, too. They have high expectations for Christine as far as grades go, and they want her to behave appropriately in class. I think you'll find them to be very supportive parents. They really are delightful people."

Rising from her chair, Miss Carter smiled. "Thanks, Cyndi. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?" She went back to her classroom and sat down at her desk, looking through her papers again. This was going to be a very interesting school year...


	7. Chapter 7 The Psychic

The petite blonde woman sat at the kitchen table and spread out her specially embroidered cloth. After lighting the candle on the table, she got out her deck of cards and shuffled them thoroughly before starting to lay them out on the cloth. She hummed to herself as she watched the pictures that flowed across the table as they seemed to take on a life of their own before her sparkling eyes.

Avalon chuckled to herself as she continued her reading, knowing that the first person she was thinking of while she turned over the cards in the deck would not approve of her methods. Well, that was just too bad, wasn't it? The psychic considered it part of her job to watch out for those who had been entrusted to her care by the fates. She checked the cards once or twice a week to make sure there was nothing amiss in their lives. If there seemed to be something unusual in the cards, she made the effort to let them know. She was their guardian.

Avalon had known even as a small child that she had a call on her life. She knew that as a psychic, she had a responsibility to use the gift she had been given to help others, even if they didn't know they needed her help, and in some cases, even if they didn't want her help. Shaking her head at the stubbornness of some people, she shuffled her cards again and laid them out, checking her work, making sure the message was correct.

The woman Avalon was checking on was a scientist, and not open to believing in things she couldn't see or touch or measure. This Queen of Swords was brilliant, with a quick mind, and sometimes with a sharp tongue, even though Avalon knew that inside, the woman had a very sensitive and giving heart. She'd been abandoned as a child, and had been unable to believe that anyone would be able to love her, until she met her King of Swords. Avalon had tried to help the Queen understand that love was possible, but it had taken a long time until the woman could actually see that what she wanted so badly was actually going to be hers for the taking.

Avalon was satisfied. It appeared the Queen of Swords would have a good week. Time to check on the King of Swords.

She smiled as she thought of the handsome King of Swords. He was a forceful man, powerful and well respected by those who knew him, even though he secretly harbored many insecurities in his soul. He was also somewhat more open to exploring the unknown than his beautiful Queen. Avalon knew as soon as she met him that he was meant to be with the Queen of Swords forever, but it was going to take a long time and a tortuous path through life before that actually happened. But happen it did, as Avalon happily remembered. She had been so pleased to sing at their wedding, knowing how perfect that song would fit with their story. At last the King of Swords and his Queen were together where they belonged.

Turning over a card, Avalon frowned slightly. The King of Swords would need to be careful at work this week. She made a mental note to send him an email to tell him to watch his step. Of course, he'd pretend he didn't believe her, but she knew he'd be extra vigilant just to be sure.

Shuffling through her cards again, Avalon decided it was time to check on the Queen of Pentacles and her husband, the King of Wands. They'd been through some rough times lately. The King's injury had put a strain on their relationship, but the Queen of Pentacles was a patient, nurturing soul, and Avalon's cards told her that the Queen's strength would keep the King moving forward. Together they would conquer the fear and uncertainty brought by the King's paralysis. The next card Avalon turned over made her laugh out loud. Perhaps an addition to the family would be just what they needed as they focused on moving forward with their lives.

She shuffled again, concentrating on the Queen of Pentacles once more. The artist, the creative one...the one who brought out the good in everyone. This was the woman who had brought Avalon into the lives of those she had been chosen to care for. This woman was the doorway to love for her friends and family. This Queen would have a good week, and, even with everything that had happened recently, she'd have a blessed life.

Nodding her head, Avalon put away her cards and rolled up her tablecloth. A quick note to the King of Swords to be careful, but other than that, things appeared to be okay this week. Rising from the table, she put away her cards and blew out the candle, happy to watch over the people who'd been entrusted to her care.


	8. Chapter 8 Charlie Burns

_A/N: this chapter takes place in season three. If you have time to review, I'd appreciate it..._

Booth stepped out of his office and walked across the bullpen to where an agent was packing up his desk. "So today's the big day, right? Finally moving upstairs?"

Charlie Burns grinned as he threw some pencils and pens into a large cardboard box. "Yep. I'm going to be the Associate Special Agent in Charge in the RICO unit. It's been a long time coming, but I finally made it." Charlie picked up the nameplate from his desk and studied it a minute before putting it in the box. "Hey, Booth...thanks for giving me the good recommendation. I really appreciate it."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Charlie." Booth shrugged his shoulders and grinned. "All I said was that if you could handle the load of shit I kept dumping on you, you could handle anything."

"Well, it's been a pleasure helping you and Dr. Brennan put away so many bad guys. We've really worked some crazy cases together, haven't we, Booth?" Charlie let out a low whistle as he threw some papers in the trash.

"Yeah, we've had our share. You've been a big help to me and Bones, you know, Charlie? I think RICO's lucky to get you."

Charlie picked up the picture of his kids that he kept on his desk, and then gave Booth a sideways glance, deciding that maybe it'd be safe to poke a little fun at his former boss. "Say, whatever happened to that baby that you guys found stuck in the tree? Remember? His mother was killed and you guys had to take care of him until he passed that safety deposit box key? I can't imagine Dr. Brennan was too comfortable dealing with all the smell and mess that comes with taking care of a kid like that." Charlie smiled to himself. He had told Booth during the case that he would've paid good money to see Dr. Brennan handle that baby, and he meant it, even though Booth was none too happy about the comment.

"The baby was adopted by some friends of his mother's." Booth paused, narrowing his eyes at Charlie. He knew what Charlie really wanted to know, but he wasn't going to bite. "Dr. Brennan has been trained as a foster parent, so she knows about the basic nuts and bolts of taking care of an infant, but it's different if you've never been around a baby. She just didn't have a lot of practical experience like I did, since she's never had a child of her own. But she learned quickly, and by the end of the case she was pretty good at it. We both kind of got attached to the little guy…"

"I imagine so. Well, maybe Dr. Brennan will decide to have kids of her own one day, if she can ever find the right guy." Charlie chuckled a bit. "I'd say Sully wasn't the right guy, was he? Although it's not like he didn't give it a good effort, right? I guess Dr. Brennan just didn't wanna be tied down to one man..."

"Sully? Where the hell did that come from, Charlie?" Booth glared at Charlie a bit as he tapped his fingers on the desk. "Of course Sully wasn't the right guy. I mean, come on. You know he's just a little kid in a grown man's body. He never could decide what he wanted to do when he grew up, so he quit a great job and took off to sail around the Caribbean. Seriously? You know Bones is too smart to run off with a shiftless guy like that…"

"She does seem loyal to you for some reason, Booth. Too bad her dad's a crook, huh?" Charlie wondered if he needed to duck, but Booth seemed to take the comment in stride.

"Max has done some bad stuff in his life, but I think he's pretty much reformed. You know, we never really had enough evidence to actually convict him of anything, but you're right. He's a shady character. Fortunately for the FBI, that character didn't rub off on his daughter. Bones is honest to a fault…"

"I know. She's definitely told me the truth from time to time, even if I didn't want to hear it." Charlie rubbed his chin as he thought about his last encounter with Dr. Brennan. "You know, she told me that it was amazing that I got a promotion within the FBI, considering my abilities are average at best. I don't know if that was a compliment or not. I doubt it..."

Booth laughed at Charlie's slight discomfort. "I think it was a compliment, Charlie. I think she was trying to say how much she appreciates all of your hard work. She's just blunt. Believe me, I know. She told me that a person with average abilities like mine was lucky to work with a genius like her, but she wasn't really being arrogant. She knows she's a genius, and she knows the FBI needs her expertise. She's glad to offer it, but she want us to appreciate her.

Charlie nodded, realizing that there was really no use in trying to discuss any of Dr. Brennan's faults with Booth. The guy obviously was crazy about his partner. "Well, I'm glad she's gonna continue to work with the Major Crimes unit. That ought to help your scorecard, right? Pretty soon you'll move up to Associate Deputy Director, or whatever they call it, and you'll be able to get out of field work if you want."

Shaking his head, Booth disagreed. "My scorecard is pretty good, but it's mostly because Bones and her lab help me so much. I'm not ready to get out of field work yet. I'd be bored sitting around in an office all day, and I don't know who Bones would partner with…"

"Yeah, I get it." Charlie knew that Booth wouldn't be happy if someone else was partners with Dr. Brennan, and she was the reason he wasn't ready to get out of field work. As long as Dr. Brennan wanted to work with the FBI, Charlie figured that Booth would be right there by her side. "Hey, look at the time. I gotta be at a meeting with my new team in a couple of hours, so I need to haul my stuff upstairs. It's been good talking to you, Booth, and thanks for everything…" Charlie picked up his box so he could leave and shook hands with Booth. "See you around, right?"

"Yeah. No problem, Charlie. Good luck with the RICO unit." Waving goodbye, Booth went back to his office. It was hard to lose a good agent to another division, but Charlie had deserved the promotion. Looking through some files on his desk, Booth thought about his own career. He was due a promotion soon, but if it meant he couldn't work with Bones any more, he wasn't sure he wanted it. Maybe he'd wait a few years. His phone rang, and he smiled as he saw his partner's name flash on his screen. Yeah...he could wait a few years.


	9. Chapter 9 Lucas

_A/N: I love the episode Stiff in the Cliff, but I find it slightly annoying that the obvious solution to the problem of Lucas teasing Emma wasn't discussed..._

It was a sunny Monday afternoon as Brennan drove through the elementary school's pick up lane. She smiled as she saw Christine run from the classroom building toward the car, backpack and lunchbox in tow. The little girl bounced on her toes impatiently as she waited for the crossing guard to help her get across the driveway. Pulling open the passenger side back door, she scrambled into the car, throwing her bags on the seat next to her with a flourish. "Hi, Mommy!"

"Hello, Christine. How was school today? Did you learn a lot of new and exciting things?" Brennan smiled at her little girl as she watched her fasten her seat belt.

"Mrs. Gallagher says we're going to learn about how plants grow this week. We're going to see if plant roots always grow down and leaves always grow up, and then we're going to read stories about how Native Americans grew plants in the past and write poems about flowers and trees. She said a farmer is coming to talk to our class on Friday about growing crops."

"A farmer?" Brennan glanced at Christine in the rearview mirror. "That sounds quite interesting. Did you plant some seeds today?"

"Yes, we planted corn seeds and bean seeds in some small plastic cups and then we put wet paper towels on top of them and put the cups in a sunny window. Mrs. Gallagher said that they're important food crops and we should learn about how to grow them so we know where our food comes from. We're growing them with water. It's called hyperponticly."

Brennan chuckled as she steered her car toward the Jeffersonian. "I think you mean hydroponically, or in water. It sounds like you've learned a lot about plants already, and it's only Monday. That's very good. I think plants are very interesting, especially since all of _my_ food comes from plants. Did you have music class today? Did you sing songs about plants?"

Christine's expression changed into a slight frown. "Yes, we had music, but it wasn't very much fun today. Lucas was mean to Emma again, and he made her cry. He said she sings like a squealing pig, and then he said she was as fat and ugly as a hog."

"That wasn't very nice, was it?" Brennan grimaced as she listened to Christine explain what had occurred in class. "What happened next? Did you ask Lucas to stop teasing Emma?"

"No. I did something else instead." Christine fidgeted with the seat belt buckle for a minute as she avoided her mother's glare in the rear view mirror.

Brennan glanced up at the rear view mirror again as she waited for the traffic light to change. "Christine, you didn't tattle on Lucas, did you? Did you call Lucas a troglodyte again? Because even if someone makes you mad, calling them names isn't the way to handle the situation. That would be as bad as Lucas calling Emma names."

"Well, it made me mad because Lucas was so mean and he made Emma sad enough to cry, and I didn't know if Mrs. Sherman had heard what Lucas said, so I waited until it was time to go back to Mrs. Gallagher's room. I made sure I was last in line, and then I told Mrs. Sherman what Lucas said to Emma and Mrs. Sherman said she would take care of it. She said she would ask Lucas to stop being mean to people."

"So you did tattle on Lucas…" Brennan's mouth twitched in annoyance.

"No, it wasn't tattling because I didn't tell the teacher about Lucas in front of everyone, and I wasn't doing it just to make someone mad or to hurt their feelings. I was telling the teacher privately about a problem I had with someone else. Mommy, don't you remember what we learned about bullying at school last week?" Christine sounded slightly exasperated at her mother's apparent forgetfulness.

Chuckling softly, Brennan nodded. "Yes, of course I remember, Christine. Mrs. Gallagher sent information about the school's bullying prevention program home for your Daddy and me to read. However, it sounds like Lucas was not paying attention during those lessons, since he's still teasing Emma."

Christine shrugged. "Maybe not. He usually talks and plays around instead of listening in class. Anyway, Mrs. Gallagher told us that she can't see or hear everything all the time, and that it's hard to stop someone from bullying someone else if we don't tell her that it's happening. She said sometimes she needs our help to make bullying stop. So she said we should tell her about a problem by ourselves, just us and her, and then it wouldn't be tattling. Then she can work with us to help us fix our problem."

"That sounds like an excellent way to handle the situation if you have a problem with another student in class. Did Mrs. Sherman talk to Lucas about what he said to Emma?"

Nodding vigorously, Christine continued. "Yes. I think Lucas got in trouble, too, Mommy. Mrs. Sherman came to our room to talk to him about what he said to Emma, and Lucas yelled at Mrs. Sherman and called her a poopyhead in front of the whole class. He had to go sit in the principal's office for the rest of the day."

Brennan arched her eyebrow in surprise. "I see. That wasn't a nice thing to do, either. It sounds like Lucas still has some things to learn about appropriate classroom behavior, doesn't he?"

Christine sighed and rolled her eyes as she thought about her classmate. "I know, Mommy. It's like I said...Lucas is a troglodyte."

Brennan bit her lip to keep from laughing out loud. She was proud of Christine's extensive vocabulary, but now was not the time to express that pride. "Perhaps, but I believe we should let Mrs. Gallagher deal with Lucas, okay, Christine? And remember...it's not nice to call other people names."

Christine huffed a little sigh as she looked out the car window. "Mommy, troglodyte just means cave dweller, like a bat…"

"I realize that, but Lucas may not know that, and it seems that he doesn't like it when you say that to him. Perhaps you've hurt his feelings, and because he's angry at you, he's trying to respond by saying hurtful things to your friends. So no more name calling, okay, Christine?" Brennan gave her daughter another pointed glance in the rearview mirror.

After a slight pout, Christine finally agreed. "Okay, Mommy. No more names."

"Good. Now, tell me about your experiment with the corn seeds and bean seeds…"


	10. Chapter 10 Marcus Geier

Marcus Geier stepped out of the FBI van and found that he was ankle deep into the muddy tracks left by the police cars and the large FBI SUV that were surrounding the crime scene. "Great.", he muttered to himself as he tried to pull his boots out of the mud. "Just great. Blood and guts isn't enough. Now I get to stand in the rain, covered in mud." He glanced up at the lead gray clouds covering the sky. The weather forecast had called for temperatures in the forties and a steady all day rain. Not ideal conditions for the recovery of remains, but there never were ideal conditions in his line of work. As the team leader for his group of FBI crime scene techs, he knew that any time he was called out to retrieve evidence or remains, it meant that someone had died in a horrible way, and they were there to gather as much evidence as possible to find out what had happened to that person.

Marcus turned up his collar and trudged across a large open field to the area marked off with crime scene tape, lugging his kit and the pack that held all of his tools. He lifted the yellow tape and stepped under it, glancing around to see who was in charge that afternoon. He groaned softly to himself. "It's gonna be one of those days, isn't it?"

Dr. Temperance Brennan and Dr. Camille Saroyan were both bent over the remains of what was probably a female, partially protruding from the thick mud on the perimeter of the field. Marcus sighed to himself as he went to see what their directions were as far as what evidence to collect, but it seemed they hadn't made that decision yet. It appeared they were having an animated discussion, but when he got closer, he realized that what he thought was a discussion was instead an intense argument.

"Dr. Saroyan, why was I called to this crime scene?" A very irritated Dr. Brennan tried to brush her damp hair out of her eyes with the back of her gloved hand as she continued speaking with her normal imperious attitude. "This body has too much flesh. There are very few bones visible in these remains. You know I prefer to work with skeletal remains. This is a waste of my time. I can't do anything with these remains until the bones are cleaned." Dr. Brennan straightened up and glared at Dr. Saroyan. "Call me when the body is brought to the lab. There's nothing for me to do here." Dr. Brennan then turned and walked toward the SUV.

Dr. Saroyan was not amused. "Dr. Brennan, I didn't have anything to do with why you were requested to come to the scene. Honestly, I have no idea why you're here, either." Dr. Saroyan was obviously exasperated and frustrated with Dr. Brennan's disapproving tone of voice and surly attitude, rolling her eyes at Dr. Brennan as she might at an argumentative teenager. "The FBI office sent me a text, stating I was needed at a crime scene. I assume they sent Booth the same text, and he brought you, right? Your being here is not my fault. Complain to your husband about being here instead of me." Dr. Saroyan stood up and stretched a bit before speaking sarcastically to her coworker. "Anyway, since you're already here, Dr. Brennan, I'd appreciate it if you could help me with the retrieval of these remains. The less time we have to spend out here in the cold and the rain, the better it'll be for everybody, right? Maybe we'll be lucky, Dr. Brennan, and we'll find some exposed bones for you to look at." Dr. Saroyan produced a fake smile as Dr. Brennan turned around in a huff, hands on her hips. "Thank you. Now, if you could help me remove some of the mud from the remains…"

"Hey, Cam, don't blame me for Bones being out here where there isn't any skeleton." Agent Booth came slogging through the mud to stand next to the women, trying to wipe wet mud from his jacket as he spoke to his wife. "I got the same text that Cam did, and since there were no real details, I just assumed they needed you out here, too, Bones." He gave his wife a wide smile and a flirty wink. "Come on, Bones...you can help Cam, right? We'll get finished quicker and then we can go home to a nice hot bath." After seeing her reluctantly nod in agreement, Booth turned to Marcus and grinned at him as they stepped away from the remains. "No use getting in the middle of those two very smart, very strong willed women. No taking sides for me, or I'd really get in trouble, if you know what I mean. How ya doin', Marcus? Great day to be a tech, huh?" Booth nodded toward the two scientists. "Don't worry. They'll settle down in a minute and let you know what they need you to do."

"Yeah." Marcus smiled tentatively at Booth, appreciating the attempt of humor. _At least Agent Booth acknowledges me by my first name,_ he thought. _It seems like the people from the Jeffersonian hardly notice me._ _Sometimes I think I might as well not even be here._ "Hey, Dr. Saroyan, Dr. Brennan...how big of a perimeter do you want us to start with in collecting the evidence?"

Glancing across the open field, Dr. Saroyan sighed as she thought about what she wanted. "At least 50 yards. I'd say these remains have been exposed to some scavengers for at least a day. We need to see if there are any more parts of our victim scattered over the area. Is that satisfactory, Dr. Brennan?" Seeing Dr, Brennan nod, Marcus started to walk away, but he paused as another team member joined them. "Just a minute, Mr. Geier. Dr. Hodgins, have you been able to check for insect activity on the remains yet?"

"There are some blowfly larvae present, but not much else to speak of. The heavy rain and cool temperatures may have delayed the insect activity." Hodgins glanced at Marcus, acknowledging him with a slight nod and a grimace. He gave the tech a perfunctory wave before continuing in a snarky voice. "Hey, Marcus. You guys are gonna have to look close to be sure you get everything we need. Make sure you tell your team to be careful if they find more parts of our victim or her clothing. I'll need to look for particulates and more insects on whatever they bag. I don't need some ham fisted FBI tech damaging the remains any more than they already are..."

"Yes, I know, Dr. Hodgins." Marcus glared at Hodgins before continuing angrily. "I've worked as an FBI crime scene tech for several years, Dr. Hodgins. I realize you may not think I'm as good at my work as one of your Jeffersonian techs, but the FBI thinks I'm good enough to lead this crime scene evidence recovery team. I assure you that I'm completely aware of all the proper procedures to use at a crime scene in order to correctly recover all sorts of evidence, and I know how to preserve it properly. It's not necessary for you to constantly remind me how to do my job!" Marcus paused as he realized that everyone had turned to look at him after his outburst. He heaved a sigh. "I'm sorry. If you'll excuse me, I'll go get my team started on evidence recovery."

"Dude…" Hodgins watched Marcus walk away and turned to the group in surprise. "What set him off? I was just telling him what we needed…"

"Perhaps, Dr. Hodgins, you should treat all of the FBI techs with more respect. Mr. Geier is very good at his job." Cam glared at him as she straightened up and wiped her hands on the front of her pants. "Sometimes you come off as being very sarcastic when you talk to him."

"I come off as sarcastic when I talk to almost everybody…" Hodgins shrugged. "Marcus is just being oversensitive. There's no reason for him to be such a big baby. The dude seriously needs to get a life. If he'd do his job right..."

Glaring at Hodgins, Brennan interrupted him. "Never mind, Hodgins. I'll take care of it. I'll make your apologies for you." The Jeffersonian team watched in surprise as Brennan walked over to join Marcus as he began to gather evidence on the far perimeter of the crime scene. "Mr. Geier, may I have a word?"

"Of course, Dr. Brennan." Embarrassed, he turned and gave her a sheepish look. "I want to apologize for losing my temper back there…"

"Given our working conditions today, it's somewhat understandable, but that's not what I wish to discuss." Brennan reached down to pick up a small piece of cloth with a pair of tweezers, putting it in an evidence bag and handing it to Marcus.

"It's not?" Marcus shifted from one foot to the other. "Okay…"

"No. I wanted to let you know why you were called to this crime scene today. I've asked Agent Booth to request that you and your team be assigned to all of the scenes where I'm investigating criminal activity. Your work is exemplary, and you are an asset to our team at the Jeffersonian. I know that I can count on you to gather any evidence you and your team may find quickly and without making mistakes. That enables the FBI lab to work efficiently with the Jeffersonian lab. That cooperation between the labs allows us to solve the crimes faster with more than adequate evidence to turn over to the Justice Department."

Marcus stood gaping in surprise. "You requested me, Dr. Brennan?"

"Yes." Brennan picked up another shred of clothing. "Actually, I believe you have the skills necessary to become a more than just a field technician if you so desired. Have you considered getting more training in various techniques used in the forensic laboratory?"

Shrugging his shoulders, Marcus nodded. "Well, yes, but the time and money involved make it difficult. I'd like to work in a lab doing chemical analysis...maybe assist in studying chemical trace evidence and particulates...things like that."

"An excellent choice. When we've completed this case, please make an appointment to see me so we can discuss opportunities for you to advance your education. For now, get back to work." With that, Dr. Brennan turned and walked back to the group of scientists.

Smiling to himself, Marcus continued to look for more evidence on the field's perimeter. Having Dr. Brennan request his team was definitely a compliment to his abilities. Having her take an interest in his career was more than he ever dreamed possible. _Maybe I'm not invisible._ , he thought. _Maybe what I do is important after all._

Booth grinned at Brennan as she walked over to join him. "Get things all straightened out?"

"I believe so." She paused at she wiped the rain and mud from her face. "I'm going to go help Cam retrieve the remains, but don't forget about what you promised...I expect you to join me in a nice hot bath this evening."

Happily nodding at his wife, Booth chuckled. "Your wish is my command, Dr. Brennan."


	11. Chapter 11 Russ

_A/N: set in season 9._

It was early on Monday morning, and Temperance Brennan shook her head as she walked into her office and saw the pile of file folders stacked on her desk. She had enjoyed the honeymoon trip she and Booth had taken in Buenos Aires, but today she had to come back to reality. Murder and mayhem hadn't stopped in the DC area just because the Jeffersonian's forensic anthropologist was on her honeymoon.

Opening the first file, Brennan laughed happily to herself. No matter how much work was awaiting her after her honeymoon, it has been worth it. She glanced down at the gold band on her left hand, and smiled dreamily, thinking of Booth stretched out on the sand, bronzed and shirtless as he lay snoozing in the South American sun… Yes, it had definitely been worth it. She had enjoyed their time together tremendously, but now it was time to get back to work.

Squaring her shoulders, she tried once again to read the first file she'd opened. The case was interesting, and she soon found herself so engrossed in the file's report that she didn't hear her visitor until he cleared his throat loudly.

"Tempe? I see that you're busy, but have you got a minute?" Russ stood at nervously in her doorway, waiting to be invited in.

"Russ! How are you?" Brennan rose quickly to embrace her brother. "Of course I have time for you! Come in and sit down. Would you like some water? What are you doing in DC?"

Laughing, Russ took the bottle of water his sister offered and sat down on the couch. "Whoa, there. I can only answer one question at a time, alright?" Sipping his drink, he made room for her to sit next to him. "Amy brought Hayley to DC for her annual checkup with Dr. Goetz, so I decided to come along for the ride. I was hoping you were back from your honeymoon. You got a little bit of sun, I see…you've got a few new freckles..."

Brennan shrugged as she brushed her nose with her fingers. "It was very sunny in Argentina. Even with lots of sunscreen, I got a slight burn, but we had a good time. We solved a murder, and we went to the beach several days. They have many spectacular restaurants in Buenos Aires, and we explored some of the surrounding countryside…"

"Wait...you solved a murder on your honeymoon?" Russ rolled his eyes at his sister. "I suppose you thought that was just part of the fun…"

"It _was_ fun. Booth especially enjoyed it, since Andy Lister is such a popular fictional character in Argentina. It may take a few days for his ego to return to its normal size." Smiling, Brennan sipped her water and sat back on the couch. "How have you been? Are you working at the same place? You were a mechanic at a garage, right?"

"I was, but it was only part time, and I needed more hours. I'm working at an auto parts store now. I just started a few weeks ago. That's one reason I came by to see you today. I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry I couldn't make it to your wedding. I really hated that I had to miss it, but I didn't think I would be able take off work to make the trip here and stay for the whole weekend." Russ grimaced as he picked at the label on his water bottle. "Dad showed me the pictures, though. You were a beautiful bride, Tempe. Booth is really a very lucky man to have you for his wife. You finally have the wonderful family you deserve."

Brennan studied her brother a few seconds, wondering if he was telling her truth about the reason he hadn't come to her wedding, but she decided to drop the subject. "I'm not upset with you, Russ. When Booth and I set our wedding date, we knew that some people might not be able to attend. Booth's brother and sister in law didn't attend our wedding, either. Anyway, even if you and Amy had come, we wouldn't have had a lot of time to spend together with everything that was going on. Things were in an uproar around here, since the church burned down the night before the wedding and then Angela rushed to put our wedding together at the last minute." She smiled as she reached over to pat his arm. "It was just one day, Russ. We wanted you to come, but we certainly understood why you couldn't. I'd much rather you and Amy bring the girls and spend the Thanksgiving or Christmas holidays with us. Maybe you can ask for time off early enough to do that this year."

"Yeah, maybe. I'll see what I can do." Russ swallowed nervously. "Listen, there's something else I need to tell you…"

"Oh?" Brennan's brows knit with concern. "Is something wrong? Has Hayley's illness gotten worse?"

"No, nothing like that. We're all fine. In fact, we're doing great." Russ shifted in his seat. "You know, I love my little girls more than I can ever tell you. Every day I think about how lucky I am to have Amy and the girls in my life, you know? But sometimes I wonder if I deserve to be so happy. I mean, after Mom and Dad left us, I skipped out on you, going to California and leaving you to fend for yourself in the foster care system." He brushed away a tear as he continued. "If I had known how bad things were in the foster care system, I never would've left you with them. I look at my girls now, and I just can't imagine leaving them, but that's what I did to you. I wish I could change things. I wish I had stuck it out and tried to take care of you myself. I'm so sorry, Tempe. Do you think you can find it in your heart to forgive me?"

"Russ…" Brennan brushed away tears of her own. "You were nineteen years old, and you'd been abandoned, too, just like I was. At the time, I didn't realize that you were unprepared for the responsibility of raising a fifteen year old girl. I also didn't realize you were grieving, too, struggling to understand what happened to our parents, just like I was. We really didn't have much help, did we? No one suggested any solutions for us other than my placement in foster care."

He shook his head. "But I should've tried harder. I know how hard things were for you...that you were abused and neglected by your foster parents. Things didn't have to be that way…I should've stayed with you."

Brennan hesitated for a minute before she continued. "You're right. I had a difficult time in foster care, but you had a difficult time being out on your own as well. We both had bad things happen to us during that time of our lives. But I've come to realize that those difficulties have shaped me to become the person I am today. I'm a strong and determined person. I wanted to prove to everyone whoever doubted me that I could succeed in spite of them, and I've done that. We can't change the past, Russ. We can only use those experiences to help us grow toward the future."

Russ wiped his eyes as he grinned at his little sister. "When did you become such a philosopher?"

Brennan laughed as she took another sip of water. "I think Booth has affected me in many ways I have yet to realize." She patted her brother's knee. "I finally forgave Dad for abandoning us, Russ. Our father and mother set off a chain of events that we couldn't control, and we weren't prepared to deal with those events. I'm not sure you really did anything for which you need forgiveness, but, because you asked, I forgive you, too, Russ."

"Thanks, Tempe. I really appreciate it." He held his water bottle up to hers, touching them together as in a toast. "Here's to us, Tempe. We both have beautiful families. We both beat the odds. We both made it, didn't we?"

"Yes, we did." Brennan smiled at her brother, touching her bottle to his before she took another drink. "Here's to us, Russ. Here's to us."


	12. Chapter 12 The Barber

_A/N: in memory of my grandfather, Joe Klutts, who ran his own barbershop. Reviews are appreciated..._

It was 7:30 on a sunny Saturday morning when Joe Klutts unlocked the door to his barbershop, one of the very few left in the DC area. It seemed more and more men were going to styling salons for their haircuts, but Joe clung stubbornly to the past, even though he knew he might be one of a dying breed. He flipped on the shop's lights and looked out the shop window to make sure the column in barber's pole by the door was spinning and producing it's candy striped design. He grinned to himself, remembering when he'd bought that fancy light 40 years ago. It was a mark of distinction for a shop like his to have a working barber's pole, right?

Today was going to be slightly different. Joe and his partner Rick had taken on an apprentice in their shop, hoping to pass on the fine art of barbering to a willing student. Stevie was anxious to begin his barbering career, and he'd wanted to jump right into proving all he'd learned at barber school, but Joe and Rick knew there was more to barbering than simply wielding barber shears. They wanted to train the young man on correct barbershop etiquette.

Joe liked his shop to be neat, so he straightened up a bit as he waited on Stevie. He rearranged the _Field and Stream_ magazines and made sure the oldest copies of _Sports Illustrated_ were tossed. " _No one wants to read year old sports magazines",_ he said to himself as he threw them into the recycling bin in the store room after the new copies of _Hot Rod_ and _Guns and Ammo_ were added to the table. There were no copies of _Vogue,_ _People_ or _Cosmopolitan_ in this barber shop. He wiped down the blue vinyl covers on both barber chairs and made sure the calendar was on the right month. He gave an appreciative glance to the young woman on the calendar, knowing his customers would be pleased with her slightly risque pose.

The comb containers on the counter had been filled with barbisol and his clippers were cleaned and oiled. The chime over the door rang as Joe gave the chairs in the waiting area a final flourish and made sure his capes were clean before dusting the big mirror above the counter. "Mr. Klutts? It's me, Stevie."

"How ya doin', kid? Ready to learn somethin' today?" Joe smiled at the younger man as he playfully gave him an elbow to the ribs. "Be good, and I may let you play with the scissors later."

"I'd like that, sir." Stevie nodded earnestly. "I'm excited that I get to work with you and Mr. Sanders."

"Okay, first thing is to drop the 'sir' bit. I'm Joe, and my partner is Rick, okay?" He watched Stevie nod in agreement. "Good. Depending on how busy we are today, I may let you take some turns on some simple haircuts, but I'm going to take my regular 8:30 this morning even if we don't have anyone else in the shop."

Stevie was confused. "You take appointments? I thought most barbershops were first come, first served…"

"Well, Stevie, most of our cuts are for guys who walk in, but occasionally a customer will request an appointment. My regular this morning doesn't usually make an appointment, but he shows up like clockwork at 8:30 on every third Saturday unless it's a holiday or some special occasion." Joe glanced up at the clock. "8:20. He'll be here soon. Booth is a great guy, but he's very particular about his hair, you know? He's an FBI special agent and a former military man, and I think that's why he favors a shorter haircut. He doesn't always have a lot of time to worry about fixing his hair."

"I see. So you use the clippers on him? Does he wear a flat top? Did he give you lots of instructions on what he wanted or did he show you a picture of what he had in mind?" Stevie fidgeted anxiously as he tried to figure out how Joe knew what his customer wanted. That was what Stevie feared the most...making a mistake on his customer's hair.

"Calm down, Stevie, and I'll tell you. Booth has a lot of thick coarse hair with a very slight wave. It tends to lie flat on the sides but it stands up somewhat on top. He's got a cowlick in back, and two scars on his scalp that he wants to hide. He doesn't want to spend a lot of time fixing his hair any more, and he doesn't want to mess with trimming his sideburns. So what would you suggest to a customer with those parameters?"

Stevie thought for a minute before answering. "Probably short sides and a longer top, with maybe a spiky look...maybe add some gel to give a bit of a messy, casual look, but something he could part if he needed to dress it up."

Joe was pleased with Stevie's suggestion. "Good choice, and, by the way, you might also want to remember this: if our clients use something like Just for Men to cover some gray we don't mention it unless they mention it first, right? Oh, there he is…"

Booth walked into the shop and shook Joe's hand. "How's it going, buddy? And who's this?"

Joe nodded to the younger man. "This is my new apprentice, Stevie. He's gonna watch today, just to get the hang of things. Don't worry...I won't let him use the clippers on you yet." They all laughed at Joe's joke. "You know, Booth...I'm gonna want to retire in a few years, so you might have to find someone new…"

"Nah...you'll just have to come to my house to do my hair every three weeks. Hey, I need you to make sure you do your best on me today, alright? I'm getting married next week, and I gotta look sharp!"

"Hey, congratulations! That's great! So after all this time you finally convinced your girlfriend to marry you? Does she really know what she's in for?"

"Probably not, and you sure as hell don't need to tell her about it, either." Booth grinned as he winked at Stevie. "A guy's gotta be able to trust his barber with his deepest, darkest secrets, Stevie. I bet they don't teach you that in barber school, do they? A guy's gotta be discreet to be a good barber. Can't go blabbing your customer's secrets, you know? You also have to keep up on the sports scores, right, Joe?"

Joe chuckled as he wielded the clippers around Booth's head.. "Booth would know, Stevie. His dad was a barber." After shaving the back of Booth's neck, Joe started on trimming the top with some barber shears. "What was it you said, Booth? You helped sweep up his shop, right?"

"Yeah, after school I'd go by and help him clean up and stay until the shop closed at five. Then my dad would put on music...usually Louie Prima... and we'd take turns pretending the clippers were a microphone and sing along with Louie or whoever else was singing." The men laughed as they imagined Booth as a boy pretending to be a singer. "I had to pick up the capes and towels and check the spittoons, too. He worked in a three chair shop, so the spittoons were usually pretty nasty by the end of the day."

Stevie wrinkled his nose at the thought. "I can imagine. Joe says his spittoons are just for decoration…"

"You're lucky there, Stevie." Joe took a bit of sandalwood scented pomade and rubbed it with his hands before running his fingers through Booth's hair and pulling it into messy spikes. He handed Booth a mirror and spun him around to face the big mirror in front. "Here, Booth, check the back...how does that look? Is it short enough? What about your sideburns?"

Booth ran his hand up the back of his head as he studied his reflection. "Yeah, that's great, and the sideburns are fine. Thanks, Joe."

Pulling the cape away from Booth, Joe took his soft brush and ran it across Booth's neck and shoulders. "There you go...all set. You almost look good enough to get married."

Grinning broadly as he rose from the barber chair, Booth pulled out his wallet to pay for his haircut. "Thanks a helluva lot, Joe. Twenty, right?"

Shaking his head, Joe held up his hand to interrupt his customer. "On the house today. Best wishes for your wedding, alright?"

"Hey, thanks. I appreciate it. Oh, by the way, we're gonna be gone on our honeymoon right after the wedding, so it'll probably be four weeks before I make it in again. I oughta be really shaggy by then."

"So you're telling me I may have to break out the dog clippers, huh?" Laughing, Joe shook Booth's hand. "Well, we'll see ya when we see ya. Have a great trip." Joe waved as Booth stepped out of the shop into the bright morning light.

"Mr. Booth seems really nice.", Stevie commented. "How many years has he been coming here to get his haircut?"

"Nine or ten years, as best I can figure." Joe gave Stevie a thoughtful glance "It makes me proud that he keeps coming in, what with his dad being a barber and all. I mean, he knows what to expect from a good barbershop, and the fact that he keeps coming back makes me feel like I must be doing something right." Joe started to sweep the hair from the floor around the barber chair. "That's what you should strive for, Stevie...to form relationships with your customers instead of just giving random haircuts. That's what brings people back. Booth's told me all about his girlfriend, you know? Even back before she was his girlfriend, when she was just his partner, he'd talk about her constantly, giving me an update on her and his work every three weeks. I always figured it'd be only a matter of time before he made it permanent with her." Joe smiled gently as he patted Stevie's shoulder. "That's what I want you to take with you from your time working with Rick and me as our apprentice. If you care about your customers, they become your friends as well." The door chime rang as another customer came in. "Okay...back to work!"


	13. Chapter 13 Andy Lister

You know, it's not easy being a fictional character. Oh, I get it...those of you who read Temperance Brennan's murder mystery novels think that I have a really great life. After all, I'm handsome, dashing, sexy, a Golden Gloves boxer, and a Harvard graduate who speaks six different languages. I also have a beautiful, sexy, genius scientist for a girlfriend. I mean, what's not to love, right? That's Andy Lister: women want him, men want to be him.

However, there can be a few problems that crop up from time to time for a fictional character. To begin with, Temperance's husband, Agent Seeley Booth, thinks that he's the inspiration for me, seeing how he's the swashbuckling FBI hero type, but he couldn't be more wrong. You see, when Temperance began to write her novel, it was purely an exercise in creativity...a way to indulge her fantasy life. She's hard core empirical science all the way when she works at the Jeffersonian, but in front of the computer at home, look out...she can come up with some really wild and crazy stories. Anyway, she decided that she wanted the hero in her book to be modeled after her ideal man...tall, good looking, intelligent, and athletic. It's not my fault that she made me perfect, you know? Well then, along comes Special Agent Seeley Booth, and wouldn't you know it? He's got a lot of the same characteristics I do. He wasn't the inspiration for me. I was the inspiration for him! Temperance would never have known what she really wanted in a romantic partner unless she'd sketched out my character first. Now, try telling that to everyone who says that Booth is the real Andy. He's even got Temperance convinced it was that way, but now you know the truth.

Being the inspiration for a real life person has other drawbacks. Whenever Temperance is annoyed at Booth, she can write some really challenging scenes for me in her books...scenes that put me through the proverbial wringer. I guess it's easier to take out her frustrations on me than on her husband. The last time she had me kidnapped by foreign spies in one of her novels was right about the time they were having a big discussion about whether or not their daughter should go to church. Even little things can set her off. He forgets to take the clothes out of the washer, and I end up getting shot and almost killed in a chapter of her latest book. It's not fair, but such is the life of a fictional character.

And don't even get me started about that whole Hannah fiasco. I was lucky to get through the novel Temperance was writing at the time without being emasculated. I had to run through fiery buildings, jump out of airplanes and then I had to try to get out of a submerged car that was sinking in the Delaware Bay, all because Agent Booth brought a hot little number home from the war. He was all like "she followed me home, can I keep her?" and Temperance acted like she was fine with it, but in the meantime she put me, Andy Lister, through Hell! I don't think I've ever been in so many dangerous situations in my life! I tell you what, I'm lucky I survived that whole period in their relationship.

Then there was the time when Temperance threatened to kill me off. She got bored with me or something like that. Booth took it really hard, and then he was pissed off. He knows that he's inspired by me, and he's right. If she kills me off, it's like stabbing him in his literary heart, too. Fortunately, one of Temperance's coworkers got her to change her mind, and I got a reprieve. That was really scary. I hope Booth and Brennan never have long term marital problems, because that would be the end of me!

It can be difficult having to stand in for Temperance's husband, but there are definite benefits as well. Things between Kathy and me have certainly heated up in the love department since Booth and Dr. Brennan have been together romantically. I mean, things were good between us before...just read page 187 in that one novel she wrote if you don't believe me. Temperance's friend Angela might help set the mood, but when it comes down to the actual nuts and bolts, it's all Temperance. Her knowledge of kinesiology comes in pretty handy when she writes some of the spicier stuff. Booth's probably glad when she tries out some of the scenes with him, but I'm the one who reaps the reward of the finished product with Kathy. Man...you'd think that Temperance would run out of ways and places for Kathy and me to have sex, but hey, if she's willing to write it, I'm willing to try it, you know? I've got nothing to lose, and I've become really, really flexible.

Oh, I gotta go. It seems Temperance needs me to help Kathy look for clues about the murderer's identity in the next novel. No, I can't tell you who it is...I don't know yet myself. You're just gonna have to read the book to find out. See you in the bookstore….


	14. Chapter 14 The Doctor

Booth sat on the exam room table in the office of the doctor contracted to do the FBI yearly physical. Wearing only his tee shirt and boxers, he sighed with annoyance as he fidgeted nervously. "God, I hate this!", he said to himself. "I don't see why I can't go to my own doctor for the FBI checkup. It's not like Dr. Hopkins is gonna lie about me." He chewed his thumbnail a bit, trying to concentrate on lowering his respiration rate as he puffed out a small sigh. Waiting was the hardest part, but he was also nervous about seeing the new doctor. He'd seen the previous FBI physician for years before the guy finally retired, and the later exams for Booth had been cursory at best. Booth felt sure that the new doctor would probably want to take his time poking and prodding to make sure Booth got his money's worth.

Finally there was a slight knock at the exam room door, and a young attractive blonde woman entered. "Good morning, Agent Booth. I'm Dr. Staunton, and I'll be doing your exam this morning."

"What?", Booth managed to squeak out. "I mean, Dr. LeGrange...he was a guy…you're a...a woman..."

Dr. Staunton checked through Booth's file, leafing through several pages. "That's correct. It appears that you're mental faculties are working correctly, which is always a plus for a special agent in charge. Excellent." She checked his blood pressure and then took her stethoscope from around her neck. "Just a quick listen to your heart…" She pressed the small cup against his chest and listened for a few seconds. "Your heart rate seems slightly elevated…breath deeply please and hold it." She moved the stethoscope to listen to his lungs. "...your lungs are clear…"

"Hmm? Yeah. I don't smoke anything...I mean, you know, cigarettes or cigars…none of that."

"That's a good choice. Let's check your reflexes…" She tapped his knee with her little hammer and nodded. "Good…" She shone a small flashlight into his eyes. "Pupillary reaction is good. Say awww please...I'm just going to use this scope to check your nose...now your ears...very good."

Moving around the exam table, Dr. Staunton stood behind Booth and ran her hands down his neck to his shoulders and chest. "From what I've read in your file, you've had surgery for a benign brain tumor. Have you noticed any other unusual nodules or growths?" Booth shook his head as she ran her hand across his shoulders "No? Well, if you ever do notice them, you need to see your personal physician as soon as possible. You have excellent acromia, and your muscle definition is outstanding."

Booth shrugged as he smiled shyly at the doctor. "I work out…"

"I can certainly tell. Now, if you'll lay back on the table…" Dr. Staunton helped Booth ease back on the exam table and then she ran her hands along his abdomen and his inguinal creases. Booth was quite uneasy about a beautiful woman other than his wife exploring him in such an intimate fashion and he tried to concentrate on the saints, but the saints seemed to have failed him in this instance. "It appears you don't have any hernias, Agent Booth, and I see that you are able to sustain an erection…erectile dysfunction often begins to occur in men your age, so it's good to see you have no problems in that area."

Now thoroughly embarrassed, Booth tugged on his boxers. "Sorry about that, Doc. Yeah, no complaints in the lovemaking department."

"An erection a perfectly normal reaction to having your abdominal muscles palpated. Now if you'll turn on your side and lower your boxers, I'll check your prostate for you…"

Booth groaned as he complied with her instructions. "Cough please, Mr. Booth...well, that seems to be normal. I'm assuming that you'll be getting PSA tests at normal intervals." Dr. Staunton pulled up Booth's boxers back where they belonged and helped him sit up.

"So am I doing okay, Doc?" Booth watched anxiously as the doctor added notes to his file on her computer.

"Your blood pressure is somewhat higher than I'd like it to be. Given the stress of your job, that's to be expected. However, I'd like you to reduce your sodium intake significantly, and you should check your blood pressure daily. If reducing your sodium doesn't lower your blood pressure, we may need to consider medication to control your hypertension." Dr. Staunton read through Booth's file folder and then added more notes to her computer. "It appears that your thoracic and upper lumbar vertebrae have suffered significant damage over many years, and when I looked at the x-rays of the damage your feet sustained while you were in the military, I was amazed that you were able to walk. Do you use any sort of prescription medication to manage your musculoskeletal pain?"

"No, ma'am, nothing other than ibuprofen. I don't take pain pills or anything that might compromise my ability to do my job, except for maybe a glass of Scotch in the evening after dinner. My feet and back hurt from time to time, but I can get by."

"I understand your situation, but I must say I'm impressed at your ability to work considering the amount of pain you must be experiencing. Many people would consider that level of pain debilitating. Any lingering effects from your gunshot wounds? I noticed you have a noticeable scar on your chest…"

"Nope. Everything's healed up and I'm doing fine. My wife helped me do some physical therapy to make sure I kept my muscle mass up."

"It seems that your therapy worked well. Alright, Agent Booth...I'm certifying you as fit to work for another year. However, I'd like you to return in six weeks so we can check your blood pressure. Also, make sure you talk to your personal physician about a PSA test."

"Okay, thanks Doc. See you in six weeks."

Oooooooooo

After dinner, Brennan and Booth sat relaxing and discussing their day as they did most evenings. "How was your physical today, Booth? Did you get a clean bill of health?"

He nodded as he sipped his Scotch. "Yep, good to go for another year."

Brennan smiled slightly. "Did you like the new doctor? What's her name...oh, yes. Dr. Staunton."

"Yeah, she's fine." Booth opened his newspaper to the crossword puzzle. "You know, just like any other doctor."

"Really? I'm surprised to hear you say that. Aubrey told me yesterday that she's a very attractive blonde…"

"Well, yeah...she's attractive if you like tall blondes." Booth filled a word in on his puzzle. "Of course, she's not nearly as attractive as my wife, so it's no big deal, and anyway, Aubrey needs to mind his own damn business."

"What did she say about your physical condition?" Brennan turned a page in her magazine."

"Well, my heart rate was slightly accelerated and my blood pressure was high. I'm supposed to limit my sodium intake or something like that. I don't really remember exactly what all she said, but she'll send me an email with instructions and the results of my blood work. What's a five letter word meaning stellar prefix?"

"Astro." Brennan smirked at her husband. "I suppose the fact that you can't remember what the doctor said has nothing to do with the fact that she's very attractive…"

Booth looked up from his puzzle in surprise. "What? Of course, those things aren't related. I listened to what she said, but when I got back to work I had other things to think about…"

"Like tall, blonde doctors. I suppose she checked you for hernias and she also examined your prostate, but you've forgotten all about that as well…" Brennan pinched her lips together to keep from laughing at her husband.

Booth squirmed a bit in his chair. "Well, she said my physical reaction to her exam was perfectly normal."

"I'm sure it was." Brennan put her magazine on the coffee table and snuggled next to her husband. "Maybe we should play doctor this evening. We can test your reflexes and I can conduct my own exam to make your physical reaction is satisfactory. Would you like that, Booth, even though I'm not a blonde?"

"I think I can make an exception in your case, Dr. Brennan." He laughed as he pulled her close. "I ready for my exam right now, and I'm sure you'll be pleased with my reactions."


	15. Chapter 15 Juan Guzman

_A/N: this character is very briefly mentioned in the Season 1 episode The Woman in the Car. I decided to expand on his story... Reviews are appreciated._

Sally Jewell

Secretary, US Department of the Interior

Washington, DC.

Dear Ms. Jewell,

I'm fairly sure you don't know who I am. My identity has been kept under wraps for years, but now with the normalization of relations between my country and yours, maybe it's time for me to step out of the shadows. I'm sure Dr. Temperance Brennan would agree. The governments of both of our countries has worked hard to keep my business quiet, but I think now is the time to speak.

I am an archaeologist. My primary interest was in finding and recovering wrecks of wooden sailing vessels that had tried to make the treacherous crossing from Spain, only to be lost in the shallow seas between the Florida coast and Cuba. Often these ships contained many treasures, such as gold coins or valuable religious artifacts. The Cuban government would take control of these items that were found, placing them in museums or in secret vaults. The average person in Cuba never gets to see the treasures that we've pulled from the sea surrounding our island.

The Cuban government has tried to maintain its independence, to show that it doesn't need help from either Russia or the United States. In many ways it's like a small child who thinks he doesn't need his mother to take care of him any more. He wants to walk by himself, but occasionally he needs a little help. That's how I met Dr. Brennan. The United States government sent her to help me.

My team and I had discovered a wreck of a ship off the Cuban coast, not far from the town of Moa. At first it seemed like it was going to be like every other recovery we'd done. I took the mini sub down to survey the site and found several interesting and potentially valuable objects, and we made plans to recover those objects. Unfortunately, I found something else...there were what appeared to be skeletal remains in the wreckage. My crew, being made of superstitious men, refused to remove the remains from the wreck because they were afraid of ghosts. Now you might wonder why I might be worried about remains in an old wreck, right? It was because these remains didn't seem to fit in with the time period of the wreck. They didn't seem to be old enough. The color of the bones was wrong, and there was not enough coral growth on them to fit in with the rest of the wreck.

When we came ashore, I made an appointment to see the Minister of the Interior to inform him of our difficulty. The wreck was rich in artifacts, but it also contained human remains. He nodded as he listened to my concerns, and then he surprised me. He said he knew someone who could help us, if we could get the US federal government to agree. He made a few phone calls and asked for some assistance, and surprisingly enough, it worked. The US federal government would make arrangements for Dr. Brennan to come to Havana to help us, but only with the understanding that we not divulge her presence, since the relationship between our governments was strained. They only agreed to do this because the US Coast Guard had been tracking drug smuggling in the Gulf, and the federales wondered if the remains were of smugglers. Not wanting to let the smugglers know of their suspicions so as to keep the element of surprise in their favor, they requested that this operation be kept as a state secret, and my government readily agreed.

So it was agreed. Dr. Brennan came secretly to Moa and she and I removed the remains from the wreck. The remains were found to be modern, but probably not smugglers. Unfortunately, it seemed more likely that the remains belonged to a family that was trying to flee Castro's Cuba for the haven of Miami. Most likely they were in a small boat that sank in the same area as the wreck. Because of the potential embarrassment to the Cuban government, the remains were buried without fanfare, and Dr. Brennan returned quickly and quietly to the United States.

I would like to see Dr. Brennan again. I've tried to keep up with her career, but our access to media has been very limited until recently. Perhaps within the next few years, I'll be able to travel to the United States and thank her again. I hope so. Please accept my thanks and my sincere appreciation for your government's assistance.

Sincerely,

Dr. Juan Guzman

Department Chair, Archaeology

University of Havana


	16. Chapter 16 Mark and Jason

_A/N: from Season 4 Man in the Outhouse_

Mark Gaffney and Jason DeFry stood staring at each other in surprise as Brennan and Booth rushed off to arrest a murder suspect. Each man eyed the other suspiciously, trying to size up the competition. Finally, Jason broke the stalemate.

"So you and Tempe…" Jason narrowed his eyes as he watched for the man's reaction.

"Yeah. You?" Mark glared at the other man.

"Yeah." Jason put his hands on his hips, pursing his lips. "Movies, mostly." Seeing Mark's confusion, Jason continues. "She likes foreign films...directors like Rossellini, Bergman, and Fellini. Museums and exhibits once in awhile."

"Oh. That sounds...interesting." Mark glanced down at the bag of takeout food in his hand. "How about some Chinese? We might as well eat it. It'll be cold soon. There's a lounge upstairs."

The two men went up to the lounge and found an empty table. As they ate from the different cartons, they compared notes.

"So how did you guys meet?", Jason began as he watched Mark launch into the fried rice. "I mean, you're a welder...she's a scientist…"

"We used to go to the same gym before I got my present job. I'm an underwater welder so I'm out of town a lot. I work on ships and offshore oil derricks, so I spend a lot of time traveling for work." Mark helped himself to some moo goo gai pan. "I'm also an artist in my spare time...I sculpt in metals. What about you?"

"We met at a seminar about medicinal plants." Eying his muscular rival, Jason continued. "I'm an athlete, too. I run marathons, and I'm in a competitive racquetball league…"

"Good for you." Mark chewed his tofu thoughtfully. "So you get to go to concerts and movies with Tempe? That must be nice. We never go out together. Sometimes I think she's ashamed to be seen with me...like she's only using me for sex…"

"Yeah...that's rough." Jason rolled his eyes at Mark's complaint. "We go out, and I take her home, but I never get invited in...it's always 'See you later, Jason.' I mean, occasionally I get a kiss…"

"So are you buying that line she gave us just now?" Mark heaved an exasperated sigh. "Tempe likes your brain and my body…"

"It's kind of lame, if you ask me. It seems like she doesn't know what she really wants." Jason finished the box of cashew chicken and threw it away. "Hey, what are you doing tonight? I've got these Coldplay tickets. We could go...maybe meet some women…have some fun..."

"I thought Tempe was gonna meet you there.", Mark asked. "If she shows up…"

"She won't have time. They'll have to interrogate the suspect, and she'll get wrapped up in the paperwork for the case. She'll be busy for the rest of the evening." Jason stood up and tugged at his snug suit jacket. "So what do you think about Agent Booth? Tempe's partner?"

Mark chuckled as he threw the empty food cartons away. "I think he considers himself a lot more than her partner. He really gave me the evil eye when he showed up at Tempe's apartment early in the morning a couple of days ago."

"Yeah, when I met him at the diner last night, it was obvious he was not happy that I was sitting with her...but I'm not sure Tempe knows he feels that way. For a genius, she's really not very good at figuring out what people are thinking, is she?"

Nodding, Mark agreed. "She's smart, but occasionally she's clueless about men, I guess."

Jason grinned at his rival. "Coldplay?"

"Sure. Let's go." Laughing and talking, the two men left the Jeffersonian, each having lost a girlfriend, but gaining a new friend.


	17. Chapter 17 Samantha Pickering

_A/N: from The Woman in the Car...a companion piece for the chapter entitled Juan Guzman..._

Samantha Pickering confidently walked up the steps of the Jeffersonian Museum and strode purposefully into Dr. Goodman's office. She was there representing the State Department, ready to do security checks on the staff of the Jeffersonian's Medico-Legal lab so they could continue to work on the government's classified cases. She was used to the sort of cool and disdainful reception she had received from Dr. Goodman. People in her position were rarely welcomed at any place of business, but she knew her poking and prying into other people's lives was necessary to keep the country safe.

She'd been given carte blanche to manipulate facts and stretch the truth as she considered necessary to get the results she needed. Samantha wasn't above asking questions about snatches of gossip and unfounded rumors if she thought it would get her closer to the truth. That was her job, and she was very good at it. She had to be rude, pushy, and nosy, and if someone got their feathers ruffled over a question, well, that was the price they'd have to pay for gaining clearance to do their work.

Looking over her list, she anticipated a few problems, but nothing an experienced security verification specialist couldn't handle. Dr. Goodman had instructed his team to cooperate, and even though they had complained about his request, it seemed they would all comply with his instructions, even if they weren't happy about it. All of them except Dr. Hodgins, but Ms. Pickering knew that Dr. Hodgins was benign and posed no threat. Smiling to herself, she decided to let him stew about it before she informed him that she didn't really need to talk to him after all. His review had already been completed, having been deemed necessary when his cousin was named to a position in the federal government.

Other than that, the day was progressing normally. Ms. Montenegro chattered nervously, spilling her guts about everything that had ever occurred throughout her life, which was interesting but mostly irrelevant to maintaining her clearance. She posed no threat. Mr. Addy appeared to be doing something besides listening to her interview questions, but he still managed to answer her questions satisfactorily, and although she had some reservations about his mental and emotional stability, Ms. Pickering didn't have enough cause to revoke his clearance. Dr. Goodman was having some sort of platonic relationship with a crazy woman who was involved in multiple protests against the federal government, which could possibly put a strain on his marriage but which posed no threat no threat to national security. Dr. Hodgins had been informed that he didn't need to undergo a security check, much to his extreme chagrin. All that was left on Ms. Pickering's agenda was to talk to Dr. Brennan.

It was with some trepidation that Ms. Pickering approached Dr. Brennan, but she knew it was necessary. Dr. Brennan's work had been vital in identifying several sets of remains for the armed forces, and she needed to maintain her clearance in order to continue that essential service.

"Dr. Brennan, can you tell me what you were doing in Cuba?" Ms. Pickering watched for any blatant reaction to determine if Dr. Brennan was going to stonewall her.

"That depends." Dr. Brennan eyed Ms. Pickering suspiciously. "What's your clearance?"

"What's your clearance, Dr. Brennan?"

"You're from the State Department. It should be easy for you to find out." Dr. Brennan gave Ms. Pickering an icy stare.

"When you were in Cuba, did you meet with a man named Juan Guzman?" Watching Dr. Brennan closely, Pickering was surprised to see a flicker of shock pass over the anthropologist's face as she held up her finger and picked up the phone. She dialed the number quickly. "You told me to call if anyone asked about...you know...him...someone from the State Department...a person named Samantha Pickering…"

Handing the phone to Ms. Pickering, Dr. Brennan sat back and watched the fireworks as Pickering's expression changed from irritation to embarrassment.

"Pickering." She was surprised when she heard the voice on the other end of the phone.

"Ms. Pickering…", the man began. "This is Secretary of State Colin Powell. You are hereby instructed to cease your questioning of Dr. Brennan on the subject of Juan Guzman. I'm not sure who authorized you to pursue that line of questioning, but you may be assured that I am not amused, nor do I condone your actions. This situation must be handled with the utmost secrecy and delicacy. You are hereby instructed to wait in Dr. Brennan's office in the Jeffersonian until someone from my office comes to collect your notes and files, and you should consider yourself under suspension until further notice...at least until I can complete your performance review."

"Yes, sir." Ms. Pickering handed the phone to Dr. Brennan as she explained what had been said. "This review is over...I'm to wait here until someone comes to destroy my notes." Dr. Brennan shrugged nonchalantly as she left the office in a hurry, called away to help her partner locate their victim.

Thirty minutes later, two men in dark suits came and collected Ms. Pickering's notes, files, and recordings, and then escorted her out of the Jeffersonian with instructions for her to return to her office immediately to clean out her desk and to leave the office premises within the hour.

Ms. Pickering sat in her car, shaking her head, in shock at what had just happened. She was suspended until her performance review, which in reality meant the end to her promising career at the State Department. Tears of frustration ran down her face as she pounded on the steering wheel of her car. She sat back in the seat, quivering in anger, as she thought of the person who had caused all of her problems. She realized she'd never find out the answer to the question that would haunt her for years to come.

"Who the hell is Juan Guzman?"


	18. Chapter 18 Dr Fuentes

_A/N: I realize this chapter might be a stretch, but that's the fun of fan fiction, I think..._

Dr. Rodolfo Fuentes stood outside Dr. Brennan's office, nervously clenching his fists and tapping his foot. He dreaded disturbing her since they were so busy with their new case, but he also realized that he needed to take care of this chore so that he could concentrate on the rest of the work he needed to do today. Taking a deep breath, he knocked on her office door.

"Dr. Fuentes. Please come in." Dr. Brennan acknowledged him without taking her eyes from her computer monitor. "Have you finished cleaning the bones and reassembling the skeleton?"

"Yes, Dr. Brennan. The bones are now laid out for your inspection. However, that is not my reason for coming to your office. I would like to speak with you for a minute, please, if you have time to see me. It is a personal matter." Dr. Fuentes shifted nervously from one foot to another.

"I can give you a few minutes. Let me finish this paragraph." Dr. Brennan typed for a few minutes more and then turned to face Dr. Fuentes. "There. Please come in and sit down. What can I do for you?"

Sitting in a chair across the desk from Dr. Brennan, Dr. Fuentes smiled faintly as he reached into the pocket of his lab coat. "I've recently received a letter from my uncle in Cuba, and he asked me to pass this letter on to you. He said you would understand…" He handed Dr. Brennan a legal sized envelope. "I haven't read it, of course…"

Brennan looked confused as she took the envelope. "I have no idea why your uncle would want to send me a letter…" She took the paper out of the envelope and lay it on her desk, smoothing it with her hands as she tried to read it. "This letter is written in Spanish, and my Spanish is somewhat rusty. Could you help me? I see that it's addressed to me…"

Rodolfo took the letter from Brennan and glanced over it. "Yes. This is a letter from my uncle...Juan Guzman. He asks if you remember him, and he hopes you are in good health…"

"Your uncle is Juan Guzman?" Brennan was thoroughly surprised. "That's amazing. Why didn't you tell me you knew him, Dr. Fuentes? He and I are old friends."

Dr. Fuentes was obviously embarrassed. "I didn't want it to appear as if I was trying to win your favor by mentioning my connection to him. He is well known in my homeland, but I wasn't sure if you would know who he is." Dr. Fuentes shrugged slightly before he continued. "Juan is my mother's brother. He has been very influential in my life, encouraging me to study science. My mother died several years ago, and afterwards there was a lot of trouble between my father and Juan. My father felt that my uncle was too supportive of the government...that he was, in a manner of speaking, a sort of collaborator, especially since my uncle was able to keep his job at the University of Havana under Castro's rule, even though many other men in the academic fields, like my father, were arrested. I believe my father blamed Juan for his arrest and imprisonment, but I'm not sure why."

"I can understand your father's point of view, Dr. Fuentes. Your Uncle Juan has done a lot of archaeological work for the Communist government. I met him when I was asked to visit Cuba to assist him with a case. I'm afraid I can't give you any more details than that." Brennan gestured toward the letter. "What else does the letter say?"

"He mentions that relations between our two countries are becoming more normal, and he wants to invite you to speak at the university early next year. He says that you and Agent Booth would be welcome guests." Rodolfo turned to the second page of the letter. "The rest of the letter tells you that he is doing well and he still appreciates your help in identifying the remains, as you mentioned, Dr. Brennan." Folding the papers again, Dr. Fuentes handed the letter back to Brennan. He hesitated before speaking again. "I have mixed emotions about my uncle, Dr. Brennan. I think he is a fine scientist, but I'm concerned that he is a puppet for the Cuban government."

Brennan nodded as she put the letter in her desk drawer. "I have a difficult choice to make, Dr. Fuentes. I like your uncle very much, and, as you mentioned, he is a fine scientist. However, if I choose to go to Cuba at his behest, it may be seen as if I am giving tacit approval to the present government, and with all their possible human rights issues and abuses, I'm not willing to do that." Brennan turned back to her computer monitor. "I'll probably decline your uncle's invitation for now. Thank you for bringing me the letter. When we finish working on this case, will you help me compose a letter to your uncle that says I cannot come to Cuba at this time? As I said, my Spanish isn't very good anymore."

Dr. Fuentes nodded. "I would be glad to help you, Dr. Brennan." He rose to leave her office. "And thank you...I know you made this choice in support of my family's struggles in Cuba."

"Think nothing of it, Dr. Fuentes." Brennan smiled as she picked up her lab coat. "I suggest that we go look at our new set of remains."


End file.
